


Boyfriend

by LennysDiary



Category: Original Work
Genre: Americana, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artists, Bi-Curiosity, Bisexuality, Blow Jobs, Boys In Love, Cute, Diary/Journal, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, First Kiss, Hand Jobs, His Manic Pixie Dream Girl Is A Guy, Humor, I Listened To A Lot Of The Beatles When I Wrote This, I Should Have Been A Screenwriter For Gay Rom Coms, Light Angst, M/M, May/December Relationship, Mild Language, Oral Sex, POV First Person, Photography, Pop Culture, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Sarcasm, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Too Many Jerry Lewis References, Vanilla, When You're Tired Of The Fast Lane, Writers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2020-01-31 06:35:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 60,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18585769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LennysDiary/pseuds/LennysDiary
Summary: [ON HIATUS]“Excuse me, I’m so sorry to bother you, but… Could you pretend to be my boyfriend for like five minutes?” Is the sentence I hear that changes my entire life.My name is Michael, and I’m completely straight.Or so I thought at least.





	1. Faking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Me? Pretend to be this kid’s boyfriend?_
> 
> _Get outta town._

“Excuse me, I’m so sorry to bother you, but… Could you pretend to be my boyfriend for like five minutes?” Is the sentence I hear that changes my entire life.

My name is Michael, and I’m completely straight.

Or so I thought at least.

I’ve been divorced for several years now, no children, I’m still terminally single, and I’m a photographer. Which means I live in a lonely studio apartment in the city, I spend most of my free time on my hobbies, and my weekends alone with a glass of wine and whatever novel I’m finishing. Yes, occasionally I go out on dates, but most of them are set up by mutual friends, and they never end well. Sometimes the problem is my date, sometimes it’s me, but either way we never really connect.

Thus the reason I’m at a charity event, snapping photos of the menagerie of high society guests in attendance free of commission, as a favor to a friend. Because said friend thinks I should get out more, socialize with my fellow human beings for a change, and because she’s a dear friend I’m doing it for free. But here I am, free and single, at a black tie event, press pass clipped to my jacket, Nikon dangling from its strap around my neck, when I’m asked this question by one of the guests.

It’s a bit comical how it happens, actually.

I’m standing near an unoccupied table, watching the crowd, partaking in a glass of champagne now that I’ve covered the initial guest speakers of the evening, music has started playing and people have coupled to dance, some just to mingle. I’m not really paying attention to my immediate surroundings when out of nowhere the crowd parts and a short, thinly built young man appears in front of me, frantically glancing around. My initial guess, he’s either looking for someone, or hiding from someone.

He doesn’t look very old, has the boyishly round face of a teen, feathery blonde hair and wide blue eyes. His bow tie is a little lopsided, and he adjusts it as he approaches me. His eyes dart around and he licks his lips nervously as he spots me in my quiet corner of the room. Rubbing his nose with his thumb in thought, he stares for a second before he grapples for my attention with small throat clearing. “Excuse me,” he says, tapping me on the shoulder and I look down.

“I’m so sorry to bother you, but… Could you pretend to be my boyfriend for like five minutes?” he asks me and I blink rapidly in confusion.

What?

Me? Pretend to be this kid’s boyfriend?

Get outta town.

“Uh,” I fumble for a moment, scratching the back of my neck. “Uhm.”

As I’m scrambling for words, disappointment flattens his features and he sighs. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t appropriate. I shouldn’t–”

“Wait, it’s okay,” I rush to assure him. “It’s just that I’m–uh–I’m straight? So…”

“Oh!” he chirps, lifting a brow. “Oh no I just meant if I could put my arm around you? You don’t have to kiss me or anything, I just…” He squirms. Then he leans in and hisses, “It’s just that my ex is here, and he brought his new boyfriend, and I’m… still single, unfortunately. I really don’t want to look like I’m still desperately pining for him or something. It’ll just be five minutes, tops, I swear. Just let me introduce you and I promise you’ll never see me again after this.”

I rub the back of my neck. This is a little unorthodox. I’m not homophobic in the slightest, and ninety percent of my friends list are members of the LGBTQ+ community in some way or another, but I must admit that touching a perfect stranger in any way that is not a handshake makes me uncomfortable. But this kid is staring up at me hopefully, almost desperately, as if any second now that person he’s hoping to impress with his date will appear before our eyes and he’s running out of time.

“Maybe you should ask one of the guests?” I say, gesturing to my camera. “I’m not exactly the most prestigious member of the party.”

“Oh, right,” he nods. “Maybe we should get rid of–” My eyes widen when immediately he reaches for the camera strap. “Let me just–” He abruptly lifts it over my head then takes the camera and gently sets it on the table, with a care for how expensive it is. I’m a bit shell-shocked as he does this. A complete stranger just takes my belongings and casts them aside, and I don’t really know how to react to it. He tugs on my press pass. “And then we just–” He hides it in my breast pocket, then says, “There.”

He pats my pocket. Well, without my camera and my press pass I do look like every other guest here, but I don’t have time to comment on any of this when a split second later two men appear, arm-in-arm, the young man quickly whirls around, forcing a smile, and slips his arm around my waist. “Steve! I didn’t expect to see you here!” he chirps brightly, like he’s happily surprised. Instantly my arm goes around his shoulder and I perk up a little, pretending to be eager to meet my “boyfriend’s” acquaintance.

Yes. This is actually happening. Right now. This very moment. I’m now being forced to pretend to be this stranger’s boyfriend, with hardly the time to prepare for it.

I chalk it up mentally as no more sexual than posing with my cousin for a family photo and hold my breath.

“Ben!” the taller gentleman greets. Steve. The ex, I’m assuming. “I… didn’t expect to see you here either.” He leans his head curiously to the side, as if wondering precisely _why_ Ben is even here at all, and beside him his date looks me up and down appreciatively for a moment, soft smile curving his lips. He hangs on Steve’s arm like an accessory. Like a man that knows he’s the eye-candy. Who expects to be. Who is used to being the center of attention everywhere he goes.

A model, probably. I’ve photographed quite a number of them over the years and I know a model when I see one. I can now understand why Ben wants to give Steve the idea that he isn’t desperate in the slightest. Ben is somewhat attractive, but the gentleman clinging to Steve looks like he belongs on the cover of Esquire. His dark undercut is fashionably styled; beard is neatly trimmed and pencil thin on a perfectly symmetrical face. And I also see why Ben picked _me_ out of a crowd to play the part.

Obviously I’m his type. Like me, Steve is tall and broad, with cropped black hair. But instead of having green eyes and a five o’clock shadow, Steve is clean shaven, with crystal blues. Were he an actor, he could easily step into the role of Superman, or any buff heroic icon really. With chiseled features, a slight dimple in his chin, and he flashes ivory white teeth in a charming smile that would undoubtedly win an Oscar. At a guess, he’s starred in a few minor roles of some obscure films.

“Oh, Steve, this is my boyfriend…” Ben begins, furtively glancing up at me.

“Michael Lance,” I introduce, setting down my champagne and offering my hand to shake Steve’s. He accepts, eyeing me curiously. “And you are?”

“Steve Porter,” he says, smiling tightly. Beside him his date clears his throat, to announce himself. “Oh, right, this is Jeremy,” he introduces his date, casually, as if in afterthought, to which Jeremy pinches his lips a little. But only briefly, and a half-second later the look is replaced with a beaming smile at both myself and Ben. Steve’s eyes are still on my face, as if confounded by me for some reason. “I know you from somewhere,” he suspects, and I shrug.

“It’s always a possibility. What do you do for a living, Steve?” I ask, reaching behind me for my champagne glass.

“I’m an actor,” he says, flatly. Saw that one coming.

“Oh,” I nod, “What have you starred in?” I then ask, and watch his intake of breath. Ouch. That has to hurt. There is nothing more disheartening to an actor than to not yet be recognized for their achievements. Unless he’s only recently come up into the industry, only starred in low budget indie films, or is even remotely humble. Which clearly Steve isn’t. He smiles, but his jaw flexes a little as if slightly irritated by my failure to recognize him.

“I’ve been doing a lot of stage-acting recently,” he remarks, and again I nod, as if I find it only mildly interesting, just to rub salt in the wound.

“Oh I know why you look so familiar!” Jeremy chirps at me, then smiles excitedly up at Steve. He points at me. “Darling this is Michael Lance, as in _the_ Michael Lance that used to shoot for Vogue, remember?” He glances back and forth between the two of us, suddenly giddy, like he’s meeting a rock star. I hear nothing from Ben, but I feel his fingers grip my jacket suddenly. “You did the most _amazing_ work for a friend of mine last year! It was _incredible_!”

“Thank you,” I smile, humbly accepting the compliment with a tilt of my head.

“But you got out of fashion though,” he comments with a pout.

“Yeah,” I smile sadly. “I’m an artist, and like most, I go where my inspiration takes me, and unfortunately it was away from that medium,” I tell him. The truth is, I grew tired of dealing with self-absorbed attention seeking divas like him, and my paycheck was not worth all the hassle I had to put up with from my editor. Tired of my pictures being doctored, my art being butchered, my wings being clipped. But mostly sick of competing with every other artist out there in a field I was miserable in to begin with.

Anyone familiar with the fashion world will tell you it’s hell, for everyone in the industry, not just models.

But Jeremy keeps the conversation going for a moment, imploring me with questions about my career, flooding me with compliments on my work, and I start to realize halfway through the conversation that I’m not the one competing here. I think Jeremy is competing with Ben, actually. He brags about his modeling career–no surprise there–and even invites me to his loft apartment, offers to pay me for a _private_ photo shoot, because he’s absolutely _in love_ with my work.

I don’t know very much about how gay men flirt, but I’m pretty sure he’s trying to steal my interest away from Ben, and I’m actually kind of offended right now. I’m probably going to shoot myself later for this missed opportunity for some extra cash, because freelance work has been my main source of income as of late, but I politely decline the offer to save some face, and retain a little dignity. I shut down the flirting as well by making sure to pay him zero attention.

Of course I’m not interested because I’m straight, but I put in a little extra effort to make it seem more like it’s because I’m happy in my relationship with Ben. Because I kind of feel bad for this kid. Here he was, dating an incredibly handsome, even somewhat successful guy, and was probably dumped on his ass for someone more attractive with a bigger bank account. Looks and money just seem like they matter way more to a guy like Steve than a meaningful connection or loving relationship.

I think I’m pulling it off, actually, despite knowing nothing about Ben. I think I’m succeeding at making it seem like the two of us are quite happy together, and Ben is not hopelessly pining for his ex. The more I talk about my success as a photographer, and the more Jeremy flirts with me, the more defined the veins in Steve’s forehead become, and it seems evident he’s insanely jealous. Also, the more nervous Ben appears. I don’t think he was expecting me to be as notable as I am.

Which tells me he knows next to nothing about the fashion industry, and is far more humble in background than Steve, Jeremy, or even myself. How Ben and Steve ended up dating in the first place, I’m quite curious of. At a guess, they were sweethearts, who fell in love way before Steve’s career ever kicked off, and something threw a wrench in the relationship. Probably his career. Work always seems to invade a relationship like an unforeseen parasite. That’s what ruined my marriage.

Eventually, conversation slows, and Steve politely excuses them both to mingle with other guests of the event, far on the other side of the room, leaving Ben and myself to drop the act. With a heavy sigh his arm slides away from me, my own drops from his shoulder, and the strangest thing happens. I feel cold. Inexplicably, I feel empty all of the sudden. Ben shyly glances up at me as I’m processing this, and says, “I’m so sorry,” wrought with apology, like he just put me through the worst kind of hell.

I smile a little. “Hey, happy I could help,” I shrug.

He snorts. “Yeah, I’d say you did. You just made my ex look like a complete and total ass,” he says. “Thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome,” I nod. He stands there for another second or two, chewing his lip.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks. “You know, as recompense for forcing you to endure my egotistical ex and his sleazy side-piece?”

I chuckle at that, shaking my head. “You know it’s an open bar, right?”

“Yeah, but only domestic. And after your stellar performance, I’d say you deserve something imported, and expensive. Or, well, as expensive as I can afford, anyway.”

“Are you even old enough to drink?” I then ask, because he does look pretty young.

He rolls his eyes a little. “I’m twenty-eight,” he says.

“You don’t look twenty-eight.”

“Thank you,” he quips, smirking.

I ponder his offer for a second before I shrug. “Okay.”

I restore my camera to its rightful place and follow Ben to the bar. I order Vodka, and Ben orders the same, with a splash of cranberry juice, settling in the stool next to mine, peeling off his jacket. “I can’t thank you enough for helping me like that,” he tells me, making it sound as though I’d given him the needed cash to pay for his mother’s heart transplant. “No really, I mean that. I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done if I had to face him alone.”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” I assure him, taking a sip of my drink once the bartender slides it my way. “But you could do with an explanation,” I add. “I’m going to take a guess and say that you are most definitely still pining for him?”

He winces a little. “No? Maybe. I don’t know.” He sighs.

I rub my chin, thinking, then guess, “I take it you came here tonight to try to win him back, but you weren’t expecting him to come with a date? Much less with a model draped on his arm?”

His shoulders slump and he nods.

“Something like that. I don’t know really know why I came here actually, I mean, this kind of thing really isn’t my scene, it’s more Steve’s thing. But I knew Steve would be here and I… couldn’t help myself. I never can with Steve. But when I saw Jeremy, I freaked. Steve spotted me, started weaving his way through the crowd, coming toward me and I panicked. I didn’t want to make it seem like I came here just to see him, so when I spotted you, I thought… well, you know the rest.”

He tips back his glass.

“I wasn’t expecting to zero in on a straight guy though,” he adds. “Sorry about that. I know that must have been awkward for you.”

“It’s alright,” I reassure him, once again. But he still doesn’t look convinced. “I just hope I wasn’t too much of an ass.”

“No, you were fine,” he says, shaking his head. “More than fine, actually. You kind of… blew me away for a second there, though. I mean, did you really work for Vogue?” I nod. “You didn’t strike me as the type. I mean, when I saw you, you didn’t look too happy to be here.” He looks me up and down. “You look more like someone who’s much happier backpacking abroad, seeing the world, taking photos of exotic places for National Geographic or something. Not snapping photos of the rich and famous.”

I chuckle. “I did work for Time for a few years,” I admit. “Traveled quite a lot for that job.” I shrug. “It was good work, but it just wasn’t what I wanted. I’m still searching for my niche, actually. I mostly do freelance right now to pay for my apartment, which means lots of family photos and press coverage like this.” I gesture to the ballroom. “Of course I’m just here tonight as a favor for a friend of mine. Susan, the lady coordinating the event. She asked me to come.”

Ben smiles a little. “Handsome, _and_ charitable. It’s really too bad you’re straight.”

I blush a little at that, hiding behind my glass.

For some reason, Ben complimenting me doesn’t garner quite the same reaction as Jeremy’s flirtations. Maybe because from him it really does feel like a genuine compliment, and not just a petty, empty pass at me. He’s smiling at me, and I try to do the same, brushing off the odd feeling coming over me. I realize that while Ben now knows so much about me and my life, I’ve yet to learn anything about him. I tip back my glass, finishing my drink, then ask, “So what about you? What do you do for a living?”

He shrugs. “I’m a writer,” he says. “Or, well, I was. Well, I mean I _am_ , but… I’m just suffering from a little writer’s block at the moment,” he admits. He fiddles with his empty glass. “Steve used to think it was cute, you know, that I was a writer and he wanted to be an actor. When he got into stage performance, he said, ‘I’ll have my very own playwright.’ I’m _not_ a playwright, but we’d joke all the time about me writing all the stuff he would star in, both of us becoming famous together, like a Broadway power couple.”

I lift a brow at that. Sounds kind of like me and my ex wife. She used to love that I was a photographer. Until one day she suddenly didn’t. “What happened between you two?”

Ben exhales. “He cheated.”

“With Jeremy?” I guess, but he shakes his head.

“No, with someone else. But someone like Jeremy. In fact, Jeremy’s just the latest in a long line of Jeremys really.” He slumps on his stool. “It’s my own fault. I was _lucky_ to have such a handsome, successful–” I arch a brow. “–Okay _moderately_ successful boyfriend, that I sort of overlooked a lot of things that maybe I shouldn’t. I was just so happy, thinking we were in love, that I didn’t even notice his shady behavior or the odd company he’d keep, you know? I just sort of let it all slide.”

“And you never questioned it?”

“Nope. Not until it was too late, anyway.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, my wife left me for the flight attendant of our last vacation,” I tell him.

“Wait, seriously?” he gapes at me, and I nod.

“Yeah, they met up during our trip before his flight back, and exchanged numbers afterwards. Infidelity was its own just reward though. He cheated on her with one of his co-attendants.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. We had problems way before that though. Work just sort of took over, and we struggled to keep the relationship afloat. There wasn’t enough romance, she said. Wasn’t enough passion. She wanted adventure, which was why she married me. Because I traveled a lot. And at the time I could actually afford to _see_ some of those exotic places, instead of just photograph them. But it turns out her idea of adventure and mine were two way different concepts.”

“And I take it you’re not quite so adventurous anymore, I’m guessing,” Ben suspects, and I nod.

“I’m happily boring now, yes,” I say with a nod and he laughs.

“I can’t blame you,” he says. “I would take a boring but happy life over my own right now.”

“It can’t be that bad, can it?” I ask.

He sighs. “No, it’s not that bad, I suppose. But it’s just… well, I guess I’m too much of a romantic, because I wouldn’t care how boring or tame, I’d at least like to share my life _with_ someone. You know, someone I can connect with. Fall in love. Real love, not like what I thought I had. That, to me, is better than any adventure.”

I nod in understanding. Loneliness hurts. But sometimes it’s better than _being_ hurt, in my opinion.

It really is too bad I’m straight, because then maybe Ben and I could be a mix of boring and tame but happy and stable _together_.

I don’t know why, but my heart suddenly jumps at that idea.

“Well, I should get out of here,” Ben finally says, drawing me out of my thoughts. He pulls cash from his wallet to tip the bartender, snatches up his jacket, and smiles at me. “Thank you again, for pretending to be my boyfriend.”

“Anytime,” I quip, and he laughs.

“I might take you up on that,” he grins, and my throat is suddenly dry.

He waves goodbye, wanders away from the bar and disappears into the crowd.

For a moment, my heart races in my chest as I stare after him.

I like Ben. A lot. He seems really nice.

But confusion sets in.

Because for a moment, I wonder what it would be like to actually _be_ his boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Here Comes The Sun"–The Beatles](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=xUNqsfFUwhY&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Boyfriend's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Or7KezMEXqlIarYmg9-mK)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	2. Obsessed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I don’t think I’m love-struck so much as I think I just might be going insane._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Come Together"–The Beatles](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=oolpPmuK2I8&feature=share)

I pace the hard wood floor of my apartment.

There’s no work today, no appointments to keep, and no reason to don anything more than my pinstriped pajama pants, so here I am, barefoot and pacing, unceremoniously running a hand through my hair. Thinking.

About Ben.

I haven’t been able to get him out of my head.

I didn’t sleep at all the night before. I tossed and turned in bed, trying to think of something else, _anything_ else, but it was impossible. I couldn’t take my mind off the whole encounter, my arm around Ben, pretending to be in a relationship with him. The warm feeling of his arm around my waist, the way it felt so natural instead of awkward, like we’ve known one another for years. So casual. How it made me feel something I hadn’t felt in a very long time. Appreciated. Cared for.

I told myself at first that it wasn’t real. What I was feeling was just the effect of champagne and keeping up the pretense of being in a relationship. That it was just the drink and friendly conversation we shared. But I have never been able to connect with someone so instantly, and easily, as Ben. Most of the dates I’ve been on are very awkward and tense. The women I’m introduced to are only interesting on the surface. But they bore me later with their tedious personalities.

I told myself at first that it’s just that I’m lonely, and I just haven’t found the right woman yet.

At first.

But then I lay in my bed the night before, thinking about his smile, his laugh, his eyes… his mouth. The way his tongue would sometimes flick his bottom lip when he talked. Not sensually so much as it seemed like a nervous habit he picked up. But it’s distracting in the same way. I started to wonder what it might be like to put my arm around him and pull him into a kiss. Those kind of thoughts are not just the sort you have when you’re lonely. But something else entirely.

I think to myself, ‘I’m only curious.’ But if I were just curious, there are any number of men in this city I could explore that curiosity with. Yet, despite that, I think about Ben. Only Ben. His is the only face that comes to mind. There’s just something about him that hypnotizes me; invades me like an alien concept. As if from the moment I laid eyes on him he began to infect me, spreading throughout me like a virus. I pace relentlessly now, debating on getting in touch with him, and how I just might manage that.

Because I want to see him again.

Just to see him. Just to be certain he’s real.

I’ve never been much of a romantic, never could quite believe that the universe might destine two souls for one another, but… there is a small part of me that wonders if that person could ever be him. I can worry about semantics later. I’d just like to see him again, maybe have coffee and chat. I think at the very least he and I could both use a friend. But I never got his last name. I can’t just type ‘Ben’ in the search bar and expect to immediately find him. Do you know how many Bens are in this city?

It would take me days, maybe even weeks, to find him on social media. Could I hire a private investigator? How would _they_ find him? What would I tell them when I hire them? “Hello, yes, I’d like you to help me find my possible soulmate?... Yes ma’am, I do realize this is not a dating service.” All to find a person I’m not completely sure I’m even attracted to, nor yet certain I could manage a relationship with, but suddenly and inexplicably can’t live without?

I don’t think I’m love-struck so much as I think I just might be going insane.

Eventually I stop pacing and flop down on the couch, smearing a hand across my face. Susan, my dear friend and confidante that organized the charity event, would know how to get in touch with the guests in attendance. I need to call her anyway. I haven’t emailed her the photos I took, and I need to. Maybe as a return favor she can help me track down Ben. With a spark of hope, I snatch my phone off the table and call her up, holding my breath.

“Hey Mike,” she answers, after the second ring.

I hate when people call me Mike. It’s an abhorrent nickname, in my opinion. It’s just so _suburban_. Susan is one of the rare exceptions of course, but whenever I hear people call me Mike, I feel like I’m someone’s dad. It makes me feel wretchedly old, like I should be wearing polo shirts, khakis, and chaperoning someone’s senior prom. Mikey is even worse. Because then I feel like a little kid, with a baseball cap flipped backwards, riding a ten speed.

“Hey Sue,” I greet. “I have those pictures for you.”

“Great! I’m at the office right now. Just send them on over.”

“Okay, hold on a sec,” I say as I’m peeling myself off the couch. The fact that I grunt when I get up does not help my insecurity regarding age. I’m not that old–I don’t think I’m old–and I don’t feel old either. But I sound like my grandfather did when he would stand up. I grab my tablet and email the photos to Sue, who opens the attachment as we’re talking. I hear her delighted gasp. I smile to myself. I have no ego to stroke, but I do love when people are satisfied with my work.

“They’re _perfect_ , darling,” she croons. “Now my only trouble will be selecting my favorites for the article. I just love them all.”

I chuckle. “I’m glad you like them.” I scratch my head for a moment, gathering the courage to ask my question. This sounds ridiculous in my head. “Listen, Sue, I was wondering if you might be able to return the favor.”

“Oh, I might,” she says. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well… I might have met someone at the event and–”

“Finally,” she exhales. I roll my eyes.

“Well, we–uh–we didn’t swap info, and I was wondering if you could help me find them?” Yes, I stick to non gender specific pronouns for the moment, because I’m not entirely sure if I’m ready to tell Susan it’s a guy, much less ready for the conversation to follow, and it feels less like I’m lying. Being vague is not the same thing as lying, in my opinion. “Do you think you could email me the guest list?”

“Sure, hold on,” I hear, and release that metaphorical breath I’ve been holding. “Sooo, is she cute?”

“Uh, cute, yeah. Cute is a… word I would use, yes,” I stumble to say.

Yes. If I’m being completely honest with myself, I do believe Ben qualifies as cute, yes.

But as I’m saying this, my hand automatically palms my face, as if it knows even before I do how ridiculous this is. I hear a chime and check my inbox, seeing the PDF of the event guest list and I tap it. I scroll down through the list, but my heart sinks when I reach the end and not a single guest with the first name of Ben appears. Which means he wasn’t actually invited. He crashed the party. Which also means there is no hope of getting a phone number, nor even an email address.

After listening to Susan babble for a few minutes about how it’s so nice that I’ve finally found someone, we say our goodbyes and hang up. I let the phone drop to my lap and set my tablet aside, slouching in my seat. I think what confuses me the most about this is how disappointed I am. More than confused at the fact that I might be attracted to a guy, I’m disappointed that I can’t even find him to maybe see him again. To know if what I feel is even real, not just some bizarre coincidence.

I feel very inept, at this current moment in time.

I resolve to let it go.

I tell myself I dodged a bullet. Evident by his dubious affair with Steve Porter, Ben seems just as ill-equipped to handle a serious relationship as I am. If not more so. And even if things could never be serious between us, I highly doubt he’s the type to consider being friends-with-benefits. He exudes romanticism, in everything from his words, to his mannerisms, to his shyness and wistful ideology. But I don’t really go for the no-strings-attached either, if I’m being honest.

Call me old fashioned if you will, but to me, sex and relationships are intrinsically tied. I don’t think I could have one without the other. A one night stand is a one night stand, but to continuously sleep with someone without forming any sort of attachment to them seems impossible. Or at least highly unlikely. Feelings of some kind are unavoidable in an intimate encounter. Maybe I just prematurely cut the umbilical cord of the inevitable heartbreak that would follow a doomed relationship.

But I can’t help but wonder.

And I can’t help but fantasize.

So the days go by, I start to obsess.

The more I try _not_ to think about it, the more I inadvertently _do_. Everywhere I go he follows me like a ghost. An apparition in my mind’s eye that hovers just on the edge of my vision. Just out of reach. When I take a cab across town I think every blonde head I see is his, and wonder if it’s him. I turn in my seat to look, to search for him, but it’s never him. I wonder if he was ever real, or if maybe I might have imagined the whole thing. I feel like I really _am_ going insane.

I don’t think this is healthy.

But it’s constantly nagging at my thoughts as I work, shop, or have lunch with friends and associates. At night it’s even worse, because then I can let my imagination run wild, and part of me feels a bit perverse for the intrusive thoughts I have without his knowledge. Some of them are quite harmless really. Musing upon the fact that he would fit perfectly in my arms if I held him. The top of his head would rest just an inch below my chin, and his arms would curl around my sides, while mine caressed his back.

But other thoughts… They’re anything but tame. They’re wild and unpredictable; uncontrollable, like a raging forest fire. Longing to know what it feels like, to hold him, kiss him, lay him down in my bed and slowly work to make him come apart in my arms, shape and mold him like clay, leave him breathless and sweating. He devours every aspect of my life and all I can think about is devouring every inch of him much the same. I’m almost ashamed of it. _Almost_.

But I think it’s the tenderness I feel for him that strikes me the most oddly about it all. That deep seated ache in my chest to take his loneliness and replace it with utter bliss. To be that stable rock in his life, the anchor that will keep him from crashing violently into the shore, to be that dream of a happy boring life filled with love and acceptance. To be the one thing he needs to keep going, the force that drives him, the wind in his sails that carries him forward.

It’s a bit poetic, really, in a tragic sense. That my life should be so abruptly halted by this chance encounter with a young man I barely know, that this encounter should consume me so wholly and completely, causing me to question everything about myself; me, an isolated hermit who doesn’t even believe in fate or destiny, and consciously avoids attachment to other human beings. A man who hasn’t the faintest idea of how to be romantic, should pine for a hopeless romantic.

All because he was hopelessly pining for another, and I just so happened to be standing nearby.

I think the biggest twist would be finally finding him, only to learn he reunited with his ex in the end. I would have that kind of luck. I would meet him on the street one day and see him walking hand-in-hand with Steve Porter, who was so enraged by jealousy that he realized he was hopelessly in love with Ben after all, and absolutely had to be with him. Maybe they eloped, and the two would tell me all about their shared happiness, how it’s all thanks to me, and I would slip even further into dissent.

But just when I begin to think I couldn’t possibly continue like this, that’s when everything changes.

I go to the park, and I take my camera. I don’t take the Nikon, and instead I bring my old Canon, carefully popping a fresh roll of film into the compartment. Most people would think film is dead, but it’s not, actually. Despite the new and wondrous age we live in, there are lots of photographers out there that still use film, and a darkroom to develop their photos, rather than a strictly digital format. You’ll never understand why until you pull a new print out of the developer and see for yourself.

There’s an unequivocal beauty in that kind of dedication to an art form.

Much like a painter that refuses to use anything but a good old fashioned brush, and when things get chaotic, they just fix it with a little turpentine.

There’s a satisfaction in traditional mediums that I don’t find in snapping digital photos. It’s the same satisfaction my grandfather once felt when he’d finally fixed his father’s old Wisner and used it to take a family photo. We still have that photo. It’s hanging in my aunt’s living room in its original frame. But that satisfying feeling of accomplishment, of having made something of utmost value, of genuine worth, maybe even sentiment, is very highly addictive, and I’m still hooked on it.

My grandfather was the one who inspired me to pursue my passion, so I often take a page from his book, grab my film and head outside. I may not be the most sociable individual, but I do get out of the house, despite what Susan thinks. I’ve been all over this city, found many intriguing nooks and crannies, but today I feel like strolling through the park to find my muse, so that’s what I do. I walk five blocks to the park and wander around. Sometimes capturing the scenery, sometimes the people.

Today it’s beautiful day and I’m more interested in the scenery. Don’t get me wrong, I like people just fine, but I love my view of the world from behind the lens much more than that of the naked eye. Pictures never capture the smells of the city, nor do they capture the sound of cars honking their horns in the distance; the cawing of the birds, the plethora of voices, the garish laughter or the dogs barking. Only the visual beauty of it is preserved. That single moment forever frozen in silence.

So there I am, focusing the lens when I spot a flash of pale blonde and I blink rapidly. I calculate the distance, adjust the lens again, panning away from the foreground, then zoom in on the object that has captured my attention, and focus. My heart falters in my chest.

It’s Ben.

I’ve found him.

He’s sitting on a park bench, a book laying beside him, and he’s taking a break from reading to share his sandwich with a flock of some very enthusiastic pigeons. He’s chuckling at them as they flit about, pecking at the crumbs he drops on the sidewalk. He’s much different than I remember. Somehow… _more_ than I remember. The sunlight shines on his hair, making it glow effervescently with gold and yellow, and he looks happy and content as if in his natural element.

He sports a white collared shirt under a light windbreaker that shields him from the slight breeze, white washed jeans and tennis shoes, haphazardly laced. He isn’t anything like Jeremy. He doesn’t appear to have that same fashion sense that bleeds sophistication like most men of his realm. Rather he seems more like a plucky, socially awkward teenager, who’s still in the process of discovering himself. Like a bird still fumbling and falling from the nest as it learns how to fly.

Well, I’m no fashion mogul either. Only when I worked high-end jobs did I ever attempt to look presentable. I probably look homeless in my faded jeans, ugly brown sweater, and sensible footwear. I think at first I’m imagining things, until I take my eye off the view finder and see that he’s there in the real world too. My heart races, and suddenly I can’t breathe. My feet simultaneously want to move both forward and away, as I war with my mind about whether I should approach.

Part of me wants to leave him alone, free of disturbance, avoid popping his delicate bubble of tranquility and treading upon his peaceful interlude. But then another part of me wants to burst chaotically into his humble world like he did mine. That stronger part of me starts to win over the weaker and lesser of its subjects and my feet begin to move almost of their own accord. I never thought I would see him again, but here he is now, and I refuse to let him slip through my fingers a second time.

He doesn’t notice my slow, gradual approach. His attention is solely on the birds at his feet still as I stop to stand a few yards away and watch. I can’t resist the urge to capture this moment, so I lift my camera and snap a quick photo. Only then does he look up, hearing the zing of the shutter. His expression quickly shifts from bewilderment to pleasant surprise and some mild amusement. “Did you just take my picture?” he asks, smiling. I grin sheepishly.

“I couldn’t help it,” I shrug. He laughs a little, shaking his head at me. “Hey,” is all I can think to say then, as words have once more failed me.

“Hey,” he responds, ducking his chin a little, fixing me with a sidelong gaze.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” I admit. “You sort of… disappeared on me. Like Cinderella at midnight.”

He chuckles. “More like Cinder-fella,” he says. “I didn’t think I’d see you again either.” He perks in his spot on the bench suddenly, then pats the empty space next to his, offering me to sit. “How’ve you been?”

‘Irrevocably lost without you’ is not a valid response, I don’t think, so instead of blurting that out I smile, moving to sit down next to him. “I’ve been okay. And you?” I shouldn’t be so transparent, but I’m overly curious to know, “Hear anything from your ex lately?”

He grins. “Nope,” he says proudly and inwardly I sigh in relief. “I’m happy to say I’m completely Steve-free now. Being with you–” He pauses, blushing and biting his lip in embarrassment. “I mean, pretending to have a boyfriend, it sort of forced me to finally come to terms with the kind of man Steve really is.”

“I’m glad,” I say, then realize what I just said. I sound like I’m happy Steve broke his heart. Like I’m a horrible person. “You know, that you feel like you don’t need that kind of negativity in your life,” I quickly add, before I make a complete ass of myself.

“No, you’re right, I don’t,” he says. “I was already living in his shadow. Even if we could repair our relationship, I don’t think I would ever leave the sidelines. I don’t think I’d ever be more important than his career. I just… I couldn’t let go. Wasn’t ready to move on. But I think I finally can now.”

“Good,” I smile. So does he.

I’m genuinely happy for him. I wasn’t able to reach a sense of closure after my marriage, no matter how hard I tried. Instead I just drank my pain until I didn’t feel it anymore, and avoided people to keep from being hurt again.

But enough about the old.

I think we’re both ready for a new topic.

“You know, most people your age would have their heads buried in their phone, scrolling through Instagram,” I comment. I _hate_ Instagram. Whenever apps like that are released to the public, suddenly everyone’s an amateur photographer, and business slows for a time. At least until people once again realize the value of professionalism. “And yet you’re here at the park enjoying this beautiful day with,” I lean forward to get a better view of the book title, “ _The Picture Of Dorian Gray_?”

He snorts. “I know, total cliché,” he says. “The lonely outcast who prefers to defy expectations by ignoring all the social norms. It’s quite popular with my demographic.” He pats the book beside him. “A friend recommended it, and I figured since it’s a beautiful day...” He shrugs. 

I chuckle a little, moving to lean back once more beside him on the bench. The birds have long since scattered, obviously sensing that I’m a vicious predator with my scary picture box. “You know, that reminds me to ask. You never did specify what sort of things you write,” I remark, throwing my arm over the backrest, watching as he sweeps his hair out of his eyes with a slender hand and sighs. “Are you a novelist? Or journalist?”

He smirks. “Novelist,” he clarifies, to sate my curiosity. “Uhm, it’s…” He clears his throat a little, and once more I see that nervous quirk of his, tongue flicking gently over his bottom lip. I don’t think I’ve been imagining things after all, because as soon as I see it, I find myself greatly desiring to _be_ that bottom lip. “Fiction,” he elaborates. “Mostly post-modern fantasy. They’re a little bit of everything. Action, adventure,” He scratches his nose. “Romance,” he adds quietly.

“Romance?” I repeat, and he nods, blushing. “Smut,” I chuckle and he hides his face, his cheeks steadily growing a darker shade of red. He nods a little.

“There are some sexual encounters, yes,” he admits.

“And just what demographic does your smut appeal to?” I ask, curious.

“The very _gay_ demographic,” he says. “Most of my characters are gay men. But you know, my publisher told me that statistically I appeal to a lot of women as well,” he adds, and my brows go up. He nods emphatically. “Oh yes, they eat it up. But those precious souls are paying my bills, so I’m not about to question it.” I laugh at that. So does he. “I enjoy what I do,” he then tells me. “I could write more serious works if I wanted. I did, for a time. But I couldn’t stay inspired long.”

“And you go where inspiration strikes?” I ask, and he nods, smiling.

“Yes. So do you, if I recall,” he answers, calling to mind a comment I’d made about jumping ship and leaving Vogue. We share a look, and suddenly inspiration strikes me right then.

“I have an idea,” I confide. He makes an ‘oh’ face, curious. “Well, I pretended to be your boyfriend,” I remind him. “Any chance you’d want to return the favor, pretend to be mine, and let me buy you a cup of coffee?”

He smiles. “Sure. I’d love a cup.” We rise from the bench, Ben scoops up his sandwich wrapper, tosses it in the trash can, then tucks his book under his arm. He cocks his head in confusion when I offer my elbow in a gentlemanly manner. But eventually just laughs, shaking his head at me and curls his arm around mine. “Quite the gentleman, I see,” he quips. Then we take off down the sidewalk at an easy pace. I smile to myself.

I think I could get used to this whole pretend boyfriend thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Here Comes The Sun"–The Beatles](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=xUNqsfFUwhY&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Boyfriend's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Or7KezMEXqlIarYmg9-mK)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	3. Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He has this infectious child-like affluence when he speaks that I just want to wrap myself up in, like a security blanket._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Heart Of Gold"–Neil Young](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=X3IA6pIVank&feature=share)

We walk a few blocks to this inconspicuous little café I often frequent. Don’t get me wrong, chain coffeehouses like Starbucks have great coffee, but I’d rather support the local businesses. My dad managed a small family owned restaurant for years, and more of late I try to appreciate the valiant effort of the little guy. So we walk, arm-in-arm to the neighborhood’s locale. I stuff my hands in my pockets, but Ben keeps his own nestled in the crook of my elbow as we stroll.

A few people stare at us, but most are polite enough to ignore us completely, and as we walk, Ben tells me about his life. He’s not from the city originally. True to my initial guess of Ben having much humbler roots, he’s from a small town, and has only lived here for a few years now. Just recently moved into a duplex with a crazy cat lady as his neighbor since parting ways with Steve. He’s still adjusting to the fast pace. He really wasn’t prepared for his ex boyfriend’s career to skyrocket into semi-stardom.

He almost left when they broke things off, was prepared to move back to his hometown, but his career would suffer for it, and moving away just seemed cowardly. He likes it here–I’m very glad he likes it here–and doesn’t want to let his past relationship dictate the way in which he moves forward. It’s been hard, adjusting to bachelorhood in the big city, even more difficult as he’s still so new to everything, and still gets lost from time to time. But he tries to look on the bright side.

He’s made a few friends here–I’m now one of them, of course. And he maintains a close relationship with most of his family still, despite being openly gay. Only his father is relatively distant since coming out to his family. They’re civil to one another at gatherings, but they don’t have the congenial bond between father and son like they used to. I love hearing him talk about his life. He has this infectious child-like affluence when he speaks that I just want to wrap myself up in, like a security blanket.

As I listen to his story, I just want to scoop him up, throw him over my shoulder, and run away with him.

He makes me feel so young, yet so tremendously old, at the same time. I don’t know if it’s simply because we’re only jokingly pretending to be dating for irony’s sake, so it’s not an actual date, and therefore the pressure normally placed upon a person to impress their date is removed, or what it is… But it feels so natural. Ben opens right up to me, and for the first time in a long time, I find myself wanting to open up in turn. It’s easier to talk about myself with someone like Ben.

Writing career aside, Ben doesn’t seem to come with a price tag. He’s more concerned with common interests and similar life goals than whether a person has money or notoriety. I can appreciate that, especially after spending so many years surrounded by Steves. People just like him that desire only to be in the spotlight, to be loved for their beauty and talent, but can never come out from behind their public image. Who become so deluded they no longer appreciate the little things in life.

We arrive at the café laughing at a joke Ben made, but quiet down for the sanctity of others enjoying their coffee, and seat ourselves at a table in the corner. It’s a very quaint establishment, but has great aesthetics. There’s a little post-modern expressionism at play, but mostly antique furniture that gives it a nice mid-century atmosphere. After coffee arrives, and Ben’s oven-warm cheese danish is subversively devoured, he dabs his mouth with a napkin to say, “You really weren’t what I expected.”

Coffee cup halfway to my face, I ask, “What do you mean?” I set my cup back down, momentarily forgotten in my intrigue. Ben bites his lip a little.

“You’re just so… average,” he answers. I smirk.

“You mean ‘boring’,” I say, and he chuckles, shaking his head.

“I don’t think you’re boring. No, I just mean you’re so… normal.” He blows a little on his coffee before taking a sip. “For a guy that’s worked for such big names like Vogue, and Time Magazine, you’re not what I expected at all. I would figure a guy like that would be more like… well, like Jeremy,” he shrugs. “Someone with an ego. You know, like an Andy Warhol. But you, you’re…” He assesses me with his eyes, grinning. “Pleasantly average, Mr. Lance. Just pleasantly average.”

I chuckle a little, reaching up to scratch the back of my neck. “I think that’s the nicest way anyone’s ever called me a schmuck,” I say, and he chortles. I sigh a little, thinking about it. “I was,” I admit, regretfully. “When I started into photojournalism, I _was_ one of those guys. I had very high expectations, very lofty goals, of changing the world through my art. Of seeing all these far away places, doing all these amazing things, and I was completely swept away by it. But no matter what I did, it was never enough.

I wanted more. Of anything and everything. I wanted to achieve the most I possibly could in life. Until it reached a point that I started _over_ -achieving. It wasn’t just about art anymore. And for a time, it was about the money. When I worked for Vogue, I was just concerned with supporting my lifestyle at that time. And then I met my ex wife. She was a model, so of course we were treading similar waters. I wouldn’t say we had perfect chemistry, but it worked. She loved being photographed, and…

I loved taking her picture. Things were okay for the first few years. But once our marriage fell apart, by the time it was all over, I was burnt out. I was tired, of all of it. The people I had to deal with on a daily basis, and the kind of man I’d become in the process. Struggled to find meaning in my work again. I’m _still_ struggling. But… I do like what I do now. Mostly I like that I no longer have all those expectations. I don’t have someone re-touching my negatives, or putting my life under a microscope.”

Ben regards me for a moment. “A happy boring life,” he speculates, and I wince a little.

“The happy part would be stretching it,” I confess, chuckling, and so does he.

“But you’re doing something you feel you can be proud of?” he asks, and I nod.

“I think so, yeah,” I say.

“So you have your own studio here in the city?”

“I do, yes. It’s… actually only a block from here. I live in the apartment above. It’s not much–it’s certainly not a penthouse ten stories up–but it’s sufficient, and I like it.”

Ben ducks his chin a little, suddenly shy once more, gripping his coffee cup tightly with both hands, picking at the ceramic with his finger nail. “Could… I see it?” he asks. “Your studio. I’d love to see some of your work. You know, the work you’re actually proud of.”

The idea occurs to me of maybe having Ben at my apartment for _other_ reasons, that have nothing to do with photography, but I quickly shove that thought aside, smile and say, “I’d like that.” We finish our coffee, I grab my camera, Ben snatches up his hardback copy of Oscar Wilde’s infamous work, and we head out. I like him even more now than previously. Each second spent in his presence just feels… invigorating, I suppose is an accurate description.

I don’t think I’ve smiled, or laughed–much less felt like I could breathe–this much in one day in _years_. Not even when my ex wife and I were at our happiest did I ever remember feeling this level of contentment. Even though all we did was have a cup of coffee, share a danish and make a little conversation, just getting to know one another. Not that I’m starting to buy into this whole “destinies entwined” nonsense, but… I really like Ben. A lot. More and more every minute.

So we walk–Ben’s arm once more curling around mine–the block and a half to my brick building, and I fish for my keys when we reach the door. Only then does he let go, and follows me when I push my way inside. Sunlight pours through the window, spilling into the front room, illuminating the space and I watch as Ben’s eyes gravitate toward the pictures framed, mounted and hanging on the walls. He meanders to one in particular, a black and white of a little girl twirling like a ballerina.

“Who’s that?” he asks me, pointing to her. “Your daughter?”

“No,” I adamantly shake my head, laughing. “God no. I don’t have any kids. I like kids, but that’s not an adventure my ex ever wanted to go on, thankfully.” Ben lifts a brow at that. “She didn’t want kids. Looking back on it, I think that’s a good thing, considering how the relationship ended. Her name’s Cassie. She’s the daughter of a client.” I point to the frame next to it. An older group, actual dancers, doing bar exercises. “That’s her mother, there. Laura. She teaches intermediate ballet downtown.”

“She’s pretty,” he comments.

I make no comment of my own on that.

“When I was there doing a spread for an article I snapped that photo. Her daycare provider called in sick, so she brought Cass to work with her that day. She was watching the students perform and trying to mimic them. It was just so opposite of what I was used to seeing at Vogue, just so natural and in the moment, no lighting, no staging, no effects, just Cass twirling around, and I couldn’t resist getting a picture of her in action. Then I asked Laura if I could hang a copy in the studio.”

“So… there’s nothing between you two, huh? No chemistry there?”

“Me and Laura? No. We’re just friends. I learned my lesson about involving myself with clients.”

“Ah... The ex wife?”

“Yeah.”

Ben takes one last look at Cass’s photo before glancing around the room at the rest of what’s most immediately on display, then pokes his head down the hall. There’s another room in the back, windowless for more controlled lighting, filled with various props, an array of backdrops, and other odds and ends. But when he spots the beige door in the corner with a thick black strip lining the frame to block out light, and a sign that says ‘Keep Out’, he grows curious.

“What’s that?” he asks, pointing.

“That’s my darkroom.”

He glances up at me. “You use a darkroom?” I nod. “I thought everybody just took digital photos nowadays. And, you know, did everything on a computer.”

“I do,” I say. “Well mostly. It makes it a lot easier to cater to my clientele if they can preview their photos and order prints via partner companies like Shutterfly. Especially if it’s family photos they need customized or printed in bulk. But…” I smirk a little, moving to the door. I know I don’t have any sensitive material at the moment that might be exposed, so I open the door and flip on the light, watching as Ben steps closer and peaks his head inside. “This I do for me,” I tell him, waving him in.

His mouth hangs open a little in surprise as he looks around the room. As if he’s genuinely intrigued by my obsession with film development, and finds it interesting, rather than just a smelly cesspool of darkroom chemicals. I have a few prints hanging up on a line with clothespins and he eyes them curiously for a moment. Random things I felt like taking so I could burn up film to test out my recently repaired enlarger. Stacks of prints clutter the tables as well.

“And you did all this yourself?” he asks, and once more I nod. “I didn’t know anyone still did this sort of thing.”

“You’d be surprised at the number of people that do,” I tell him. “There’s quite a few of us out there, actually.”

He snorts, then says, “Yeah and I bet they all think they’re just so edgy and unique.”

I chuckle at that. “Some of them probably do, yes.”

“And you don’t find this exhausting? To work with all these chemicals and processes, just to get one print you could make a thousand times over using a Kodak printer in a quarter of the time?”

“Oh, it can be exhausting, yes,” I agree. “But I’m a very patient man, when it’s worth the wait. And trust me, it’s worth it.”

“Is it?” he smirks, and once more inspiration strikes me like lightning.

“You’re… not afraid of the dark, are you?” I ask, and his brows raise.

“Uh, not unless I should be, no.”

“Okay, let me show you something then.”

“Oh, okay.”

I see Ben wring his hands nervously just before I shut the door tightly, make sure it’s completely sealed, then turn off the light. I hear his intake of nervous breath. It feels like there’s a buzz of energy in the air between us for a moment, and my heart races. I know exactly where he’s standing, and so I reach for his hand, leading him over to the counter. “You kind of need total darkness or you risk overexposing the film,” I remind him when he seems just a bit too nervous for sanity’s sake. “Just gimme a sec.”

I guide Ben through the careful process of developing a negative, explaining things as I go. He’s somewhat familiar with the process, he tells me. He took a photography class in highschool, for half a semester. He knows the basics. I probably shouldn’t waste a whole roll of unused film–I only took maybe five pictures at the park–but I show Ben how to develop the picture I took of him, sitting on the park bench. Once we process the film negative, I show him how to use the enlarger.

The process as a whole is very time consuming, and I do understand why most in my profession have since veered away from film photography in its entirety, but as a hobby, I find it cathartic really. We spend the afternoon going through the entire process, from film, to negative, to print, and those moments when the safelight is on, I see Ben, bathed in a heady glow of scarlet, and my heart races. I watch his reaction almost greedily as the paper soaks in the developer.

“Oh wow,” he breathes, when he sees the photo appear.

We put it in the stop bath, the solution that will halt all further chemical process before the paper becomes too saturated, and we let it soak. I make sure everything is put away before the white fluorescent light is flipped on. Ben blinks his eyes at the light, then watches me as I lift the print out of the solution and hang it up to dry. Then he stares, amazed, at the picture he made, soft smile curving the edges of his mouth. “I think I get it now,” he says. “This was exciting, I mean, I _made_ that.”

“You did,” I smile. Inside I’m buzzing with that energy still. I’ve never brought anyone to my workplace that was genuinely interested in my hobby. Sure, some women have thought it was ‘cute’, but most of them thought it just a waste of time and money. These are the same women that have the most ridiculous hobbies, I might add. I can’t count the number of women with expensive but meaningless diversions they find entertaining, for some unknown reason.

And they think _my_ obsession is pointless, and asinine. But Ben gets bubbly and excitable just now, grin spreading across his face at his picture. “I can definitely see why you like this,” he says. “Have you always known you wanted to be a photographer?”

I shrug. “I wanted to be a race car driver, actually,” I say. “But what ten year old wouldn’t want to be a race car driver? I mean they’re just so cool.” Ben chuckles at that. “My grandfather was the one who inspired me. He was a photographer. Not professionally. He worked for N.A.S.A., but he was a hobbyist. He drove my grandmother crazy when he turned their bathroom into a darkroom. So she cleaned out one of the guest rooms, boarded up the window, and let him develop.”

“She was supportive, was she?”

“Oh yeah, very. He was always taking pictures, everywhere he went he’d bring his camera. Sometimes he’d just sit on the back patio, taking pictures of their back yard. Of us when we’d visit, all their cats and dogs, the trees surrounding the house. Even the back stoop. Anything and everything. Sometimes testing new techniques. He was always tinkering, experimenting with different methods. I asked him once, why he took so many photos, and he said to me, ‘to find the one I’m looking for’.”

“The one he was looking for?” Ben repeats, confused, so I elaborate.

“The one that would make him stop, he said. The ‘perfect moment’. The one picture he would take that would make him stop and say, ‘It will never get more beautiful than this.’ When I got older, I started searching for it as well. It’s the apex of every artist’s desire. A pinnacle achievement. Like Michaelangelo’s Sistine Chapel. Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa. Newton’s theory of gravity. Edison’s phonograph. For someone like me it’s the photograph to top every one I’ve ever taken before it.”

“Did you ever find it?”

I chuckle a little, shaking my head. “Not yet.”

“As a writer I look for something similar,” he says. “Well, not so much ‘look for’ as ‘attempt to write’, more like,” he shrugs. “Every story of course has its beginning, middle and end, its plot, subplot and its nail-biting cliffhanger, but I most enjoy building up to _that_ moment. That… well, that perfect moment, I suppose. Sort of like your artists’ epiphany. The moment in the story when everything just sort of falls into place. When everything feels right, and it can’t possibly get any better.”

“Isn’t that the end of a book?” I ask, and he chuckles.

“You’re thinking of the resolution,” he tells me. “When all conflict is resolved and the plot reaches its conclusion. No, it’s not that. Okay, sometimes. But it’s just that moment when though the plot may still have loose ends to tie up, the character is aligned with their desires. Typically it happens during or leading up to the climax.”

I snort at that. “So it’s the sex.”

Ben palms his face, that turns a brighter shade of red then the safelight. “Not _that_ kind of climax,” he huffs. “Though… okay yes, sometimes it’s the sex. But no, I just meant the climactic moment of the story’s arc. It’s just the moment when the protagonist knows exactly what they want, what they’ve been searching for, what they’ve been working towards, and maybe even achieves it. Like the moment Sherlock Holmes solves the mystery, has an ‘Aha!’ moment, then chases down the villain.”

“Oh okay,” I chuckle, feeling like an ass.

“So did your grandfather ever find his moment?” Ben asks me, and I scratch my head.

“I don’t know, actually. I never got the chance to ask before he passed away. He might have. I mean, after the funeral, when we were going through all his old things, there were boxes and boxes of prints. It could have been any number of those pictures.” I laugh a little. “The strangest thing happened though. When we were cleaning out the attic, we found this _huge_ box, bigger than all the rest, filled with nothing but pictures of my grandmother. There had to have been thousands of them.”

“Wow. He really loved your grandmother,” Ben suspects, and I nod my head in agreement.

“More than life,” I say. Ben smiles suddenly, at a thought, nodding his head a little. “What?”

“It sounds like he _did_ find it,” he says. “A thousand times over, every moment spent with her.”

I consider that. “You know, I think you might be right.”

We share a look, for just a moment, just a split second, and I begin to wonder if I would ever find that moment with Ben. It’s just a silly thought. I can’t even be certain if we’re compatible, let alone if Ben would ever be happy with a guy like me. But I wonder. And I can’t help but try to picture it. Images _are_ my line of work, after all. “Well, I should probably get going,” he sighs, and my heart clenches at that statement. I can’t be certain of anything else, but I do know one thing: I don’t want him to go.

I sigh a little, and nod, then reach to snatch his picture from the line. It’s mostly dry now. “Here,” I say, and he smiles, taking it.

“Thank you,” he says. We leave the darkroom and I close everything up behind us. Ben turns to me. “Well, as far as pretend first dates go, I’d say this one went pretty well,” he chirps, and I laugh. “I had a lot of fun.”

“Me too.” He turns to leave when it dawns on me. “Wait, can I get your number this time around?” I ask, and he turns back to me. He nods, and holds out his hand for my phone, which I pull out of my pocket. I watch as he programs his number, then take the phone back. Immediately I dial the number, smirking at the way he jumps in surprise when his phone vibrates in his jacket pocket. He looks down at my number on the screen. “And now you have mine,” I say, and he grins.

“I’ll see you later, Michael,” he says, then leaves out the door and into the sunlight.

I glance down at my phone, seeing his name.

“Ben Turner,” I murmur, chewing my lip.

As far as first dates usually go, I have to agree with him. This one was pretty good. Is it wrong to hope for a second?

And to hope it happens soon?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Here Comes The Sun"–The Beatles](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=xUNqsfFUwhY&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Boyfriend's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Or7KezMEXqlIarYmg9-mK)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	4. Stalking?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Scrolling through his social media accounts? Purchasing every single one of his books? This can’t be healthy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Paint It Black"–The Rolling Stones](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=170sceOWWXc&feature=share)

I’m not stalking him.

At least, I don’t _think_ I’m stalking him.

I tell myself I’m not, even though it feels suspiciously like it.

But I do my homework, now that I have a last name to pair with the first. I tell myself it’s because I want to get to know him better, make sure he really is who he says he is, and doesn’t have any crazy love for shellfish, because I’m allergic. He has a Facebook page. It’s mostly filled with photos taken with his family, and ninety percent of his friends list is made up of family members. Maybe a few old friends from highschool. Most of his posts are shared from other writers’ blogs and websites.

He has a Twitter account, but he doesn’t tweet. Maybe retweets a link to an article he finds interesting on occasion. But he follows hundreds of others, and quite often likes their tweets. Writers, artists, musicians, maybe a few people he knows outside of social media. Oh and he does have an Instagram, with a handful of selfies taken with friends, but not many. I have this inkling of a suspicion that he had dozens of photos taken with Steve that he deleted when he finally axed the relationship.

I’m grateful for that. Not that I could ever be jealous of a previous flame, but I think if I were to see pictures of the two of them happy together, knowing how he betrayed Ben, I would be angry. Angry at Steve on Ben’s behalf. Not jealous. I am in no way jealous, whatsoever. I really can’t be possessive of Ben and I shouldn’t be. But I do skip over to Steve Porter’s Instagram page just to be certain there’s really nothing going on between them still, and I find nothing but selfies, to my utmost relief.

Steve is still erroneously in love with himself, and Ben is mine.

I mean _single_. Ben is _single_. I swear that’s what I meant.

But jumping away from social media, I peruse his professional website next, and… download every one of his books. Yes, every single one of them. I browse the titles first, the most recent being his fantasy novels, but eventually I find some of his earlier works, the more serious ones. A specific book titled ‘The Existentialist’ captures my interest and I start reading it first. It’s pretty good so far. It’s about a young man that, after a series of life-altering events, begins to question his belief in a higher power.

I’m about halfway through the novel when I face-palm. This is absolutely ridiculous, isn’t it? I’m becoming obsessed with Ben. I know I am. Scrolling through his social media accounts? Purchasing every single one of his books? This can’t be healthy. But an interesting thing happens though. Around eight o’clock that night, I check my notifications to see that Ben Turner liked and shared my studio’s web page on all of his social media accounts. So I guess I’m not the only one doing their homework.

About an hour later I get a phone call from Ben, and my heart almost leaps right out of my chest. I drop my phone in surprise, then scramble to pick it up from the floor, on my hands and knees when I answer. “Hello?”

“Hey Michael,” he greets me, and there’s a warmth in his tone that makes me smile.

“Hey,” I grin, heart racing. I stand up, and slowly make my way back to the couch.

“I… have a confession to make,” he says, shyly.

“Oh? What’s that?” I ask as I flop down in my seat.

“I’ve kind of been stalking you?” he says with nervous laughter, and considering my thoughts all afternoon, I chuckle, shaking my head a little at the confession.

“Have you now?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. He sounds like he’s shifting around. The sound is muffled for a split second. Is he laying down?… Is he in his bed, right now, while he’s talking to me? There’s a mental image that I probably shouldn’t have. “I found your website and clicked on the gallery, started going through all your pictures. I mean, they’re just so amazing. I think I just went through the last three years in, like, a day?” I huff a little at that. “I know, I’m horrible,” he groans.

 _Oh no,_ I think. _Don’t make that sound. That is a very sexy sound._

“I’m a total creep.”

Actually, that would be _me_ , sadly.

I sigh a little, biting my lip. “I have a confession to make too,” I say.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I’ve kind of been stalking you back?” I say.

“What?” he laughs, and so do I.

“Yeah, I just downloaded all of your books on Amazon, started reading The Existentialist earlier. I’m about halfway through it. It’s pretty good so far. I can’t seem to put it down.”

“I’m glad you like it. I worked pretty hard on that one… Wait, _all_ of them?”

“Every one I could find, yes.” I scratch the back of my neck. “I just figured, you know, since you were kind enough to indulge me in my unhealthy obsession with film photography, I’d do the same, and browse some of your books. And I just couldn’t resist.”

“I’m–I’m flattered,” he chuckles. “No, really, I am. That’s very sweet of you, actually. So we’re both stalking each other, huh?”

“Well, I don’t think it’s stalking really,” I say. “I mean, it’s not like you hacked my profile and went through all my private messages.”

“True. And it’s not like you’ve been following me to my apartment and taking pictures of me while I sleep,” he says. I snort at that.

“Yeah, definitely not. That is creepy. That has psychopathic serial killer written all over it.”

“Oh yeah totally.”

“So it’s not stalking.”

“No, it’s not stalking.”

“Definitely not.”

“So this is totally normal then.”

“Oh yeah, definitely.”

There’s a second or two of silence before we both break into laughter, then talk about Ben’s books, and he asks me about the photos posted on my website. We talk for over an hour that night. He tells me about The Existentialist. He doesn’t spoil it for me, but mentions that he started working on the rough draft shortly after he graduated from highschool, a draft he then rewrote countless times throughout college before he finally handed it over to a publishing company that liked his work.

It’s the book that kick-started his career. Ben tells me more about his family, specifically how his older sister, Katherine, is getting married a few months from now. This is her second marriage–she’s divorced, and shares custody of a five year old with her ex husband–and she’s nervous, calling Ben almost nonstop lately to talk about the wedding plans. But mostly just so Ben can reassure her that everything will be fine, that Brian loves her, and isn’t going to change his mind and leave her at the altar.

Plus, he absolutely adores Anna, his soon-to-be stepchild. Ben goes on to talk about his dad, elaborating on their strained relationship. He obviously doesn’t approve of Ben’s lifestyle, but the biggest part of it is that he doesn’t approve of Ben’s career choice. He never took Ben’s writing seriously, and was completely floored by his son’s success as a novelist. He reminds me of my dad. He wasn’t exactly supportive of my decision to pursue photography either. But he got why I was so passionate about it.

I tell him about my own family, and working with people like Laura, Cassie’s mother. The series of mishaps I went through before my small business kicked off and I finally hit my big break when I did a front page for a local paper. Said newspaper was kind enough to run a few advertisements, which really helped boost my marketing campaign. I mention a friend of mine that owns a modern art gallery downtown, who has been begging me for months now to showcase some of my work.

But I really have no idea what to showcase. It’s just not my circuit anymore. I left a lot of that behind when I quit Vogue, and most of what I have now are photos like Cassie, Laura’s dancers, and various other shots of the people I’ve done work for. Shots of clients and their kids in their downtime between photo shoots. Pictures of the park. It’s just not the kind of high-end work Eric usually displays in his exhibits, and even though it would be a great opportunity for me, I just have nothing to offer.

We go on to talk about a million other things, movies we’ve seen recently, books we’ve read, the kinds of music we listen to, and by the time we finally hang up, I feel like I’ve disconnected a call with a lifelong friend. I can’t wipe the smile off my face. Ben is truly something special. I stay up most of the night thinking about him. I wonder if he’s also thinking about me. I wonder if he’s laying in his bed right now, right this second, half naked maybe, picturing me just like I’m picturing him now.

I want to ask him out, officially, on a real date, but I’m hesitant still. And it’s not just personal reservations. He just got out of a train wreck of a relationship with Steve, and I don’t want to be another regret he has on his list of them. I don’t think I want to be a rebound either. But I like Ben. Not just as a friend. I’m pretty sure it’s more. Because I’m pretty sure friends don’t lie awake at night, having the thoughts I have of Ben. And the thoughts I’m having right now? Yeah, these are in no way innocent.

But there’s just something about him. And his voice is kind of sexy on the phone. I never thought I would ever be attracted to a guy’s voice before, but I’m attracted to Ben’s. He has this light, airy, breathy way of speaking that just drips with sex. The way he talks about his writing is so passionate, and it kind of makes it hard not to paint mental images of Ben in throes of passion. After hearing that voice in my ear for over an hour, it’s no wonder I want to jerk off after that. And I wonder…

Would Ben ever pleasure himself while thinking about me?

I can kind of picture it. Ben laying in a bed on his stomach, sheets pulled down past his hips, that grind into the mattress as he pictures me. I can picture him growing frustrated enough to finally roll over onto his side and reach down, erection in hand, then moan my name as he works toward his release. I kind of like that picture, and if I _were_ in any way a creep, I _would_ follow him to his apartment, climb up the fire escape, watch him slowly undress, getting ready for bed, and snap pictures of it.

I’m _not_ a creep like that, definitely _not_ a ‘peeping Tom’, and I would _never_ condone non-consensual voyeurism, but it’s still nice to fantasize. The image of Ben coming undone with my name on his lips gets me off in the end. But I’m not so much relieved as I’m just exhausted. I’ve driven myself crazy over this the past few weeks, and I still don’t know what to do about it. Should I just call him up and tell him how I feel? Tell him how though I’ve never been with another guy, I think about him all the time like this?

I could do that. I could tell him I’m curious about him, and ask him if he might be interested in letting me sate that curiosity. But I know I won’t do that tonight.

Turns out, I don’t do it at all.

It’s almost a week before Ben and I speak again, other than the occasional text, saying, ‘Hey, how are you?’ With a reply of something like, ‘I’m good, and you?’

But during that week I finish all but one of Ben’s books. His latest, and I sense a pattern in his writing. I notice that The Existentialist was written before Steve came in the picture, and true to its title was a very serious composition delving into some pretty heavy themes. It’s rather dark compared to his later works, and judging by the publishing dates, the lighter, brighter and happier fantasy novels were written after he started dating Steve. When he was happy and carefree in a new relationship.

When he was in love, it bled into his writing, filling it with more romantic themes, softer characterization of the protagonists, less angst in the plot’s development, and a much happier ending. His books sold rapidly, and his overall success grew in tandem with it. But when Ben and Steve started having problems that led to their break-up, that’s when the writer’s block hit. His flow in creativity seems to be strongly tied to his emotions, and it makes me a little disheartened on his behalf.

That Ben’s success almost exclusively relies on his happiness. And right now, he’s not overly happy. So neither is his outlook on writing. His publisher is probably breathing down his neck for a new installment of his latest series, and he’s probably miserable. Biting his nails over whether or not he’ll be able to cover his rent for another month on his stipend. If the cash-grab from his last book will see him to the next. It kind of makes me worry for him. I have the same problems. The same worries.

Wondering if my last client will ultimately _be_ my last, if I’ll ever have another big break, and if I’ll make the mortgage on time this month. It’s a terrible way to live. But people do it every day, all over the country, and Ben and myself are just two more people stuck in that rut. But it also makes me appreciate Ben even more, because of that. Ben is on my level, not high above me in the clouds, nor below me as I skate through life on cloud nine. We’re fairly evenly matched.

I spend a considerable amount of time reading some of the reviews left by some of his readers on Amazon, probably way more time than what is socially acceptable, rolling my eyes whenever I see a comment I don’t agree with. Some snot-nosed Harvard grad that doesn’t think his work is ‘relevant’, wanting desperately to reach into my tablet, pull out the reader and strangle them with my bare hands. Because I think Ben’s books are wonderful. I may or may not be biased though.

Just when I think this obsession can’t possibly get any weirder, I find an _audiobook_. It’s his newest release, and it’s _Ben’s voice_. I think I might die when I see the by-line. I’m already halfway through the book, but I don’t mind starting over. Ben has a terrific reading voice, and it makes the story all that much more enjoyable to hear how Ben envisioned the emphasis on various bits of dialogue. He vocalizes his character’s traits, even adopts their accents. I fall asleep that night to the sound of Ben’s voice.

Now I _know_ I’ve gone crazy. Yes, I’ll admit it. I, Michael Lance, have gone head-over-heels for Ben Turner. His work is amazing, he’s wonderful to talk to, and I’m absolutely bonkers. I find it difficult to get through the next few weeks without spending every second wanting to call Ben, or text him. Wanting to see him again. I drive myself absolutely nuts trying to resist the urge. Work is pretty sluggish at the moment, so with all this free time on my hands, Ben is all I think about.

Finally, I call him up one night. He answers after the second ring with, “Michael!” His voice is so warm and friendly, like he’s genuinely happy to hear from me. It puts a smile on my face, and effectively erases all my pent up anxiety. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” I say. “I… finished all your books.”

“Did you now?”

“I did, yes. Every single one.”

He chuckles. “Did you like them?”

“I _loved_ them,” I say, and I can almost hear his smile. I have a feeling he’s blushing too. He always blushes whenever I give him a compliment.

“I didn’t think they would be your speed,” he tells me. “I mean, they’re geared toward a younger audience, and I didn’t really think you’d be all that interested.”

I laugh a little. “Eh, makes me feel like I’ve, you know, maybe recaptured some of my youth.” I hear him let out a breathy chuckle, right in my ear. “But they’re really great, Ben. You’re a terrific writer. And I think what you do is wonderful.”

“Thank you, Michael,” he gushes. “It really means a lot to hear that.”

“You’re quite welcome.” I hear shuffling sounds on Ben’s end, a little wind blowing into the speaker maybe, and the distant sounds of cars honking their horns. It sounds like he’s outside. “So, what are you getting into tonight?” I ask him, hoping I didn’t catch him at a bad time, and if he’s available, maybe we could meet up somewhere, go grab a bite to eat, maybe catch a movie. I hear him laugh suddenly, which makes me curious. “You have any plans?”

“Uhm, yeah, actually,” he says, and I deflate a little.

“So you’re busy?”

“I’m going to see a friend,” he says. Okay, well, at least he said ‘friend’, and not ‘I’m going on a date’. “By the way, do you like pizza?”

“Uh yeah, actually, I do.”

“What about… double pepperoni, extra cheese?”

“Definitely… why?”

He snorts a little. “Well, good, because for a second there, I was a little worried.”

“Worried? Why were you worried?”

“Uhm… well…”

I jump a little when I hear knocking on Ben’s end, at the same time someone knocks on the door downstairs.

“Mind coming downstairs?” Ben asks, and my heart races.

He’s here! _I’m_ the friend he’s coming to see. I laugh a little.

“Yeah, I’ll be right down.”

I hang up the phone and throw on a pair of jeans and an old sweat shirt, because I’ve been laying in my bed sans clothing, and I rush to the bathroom, checking myself over in the mirror. I look horrible, so I spend five to ten seconds trying to get my hair to lay flat but it refuses. With a frustrated grumble I grab my toothbrush and quickly brush my teeth–still trying to fix my hair in the process, but it’s stubborn–then I rinse, dab my face with a towel, and flip off the light.

I barrel down the stairs at light speed, almost slamming into the downstairs door in a rush to get it open. I stop, take a deep breath to calm down, then make an effort to casually stroll across the front room of the downstairs. I see Ben on the other side of the glass door, smiling and waving, holding a large double pepperoni pizza with extra cheese from Domino’s, and I unlock the door to let him in. “This isn’t a bad time, is it? I mean, if you already have company...”

“No, it’s okay. It’s just me here. Come on in.”

“Sorry I didn’t call,” he says offhandedly as he enters. “I kinda thought maybe I’d surprise you.”

“Consider me happily surprised,” I say, and Ben exhales, relieved. He’s holding the pizza box with one hand, and a DVD in the other. “What’s this?” I ask, gesturing to the case, and he holds it up. I read the title. “Jerry Lewis’s Cinderfella?”

Ben chuckles. “Yeah. Your comment the other day about me disappearing like Cinderella made me think of it, so I thought maybe we could watch it. You like Jerry Lewis?”

“I do, yes,” I say, nodding. “Aren’t you a little young for Jerry Lewis?”

Ben rolls his eyes. “My mom’s a huge fan. She loves Jerry Lewis. She got me into his movies. I think I’ve seen just about every one he’s ever made. Even his collaborations with Dean Martin.”

I nod a little. “My dad liked him a lot,” I say.

“You have a favorite?”

“Yeah, The Nutty Professor.”

“Oh that’s a good one.”

I wave Ben upstairs and we continue the conversation en route. At the top landing, I say, “Well, I don’t actually have a tv at the moment. But I have a laptop with a disc drive. Is that okay?”

Ben smiles at me. “It’s perfect,” he says, and follows me into my apartment.

I can hardly believe it. Ben is in my apartment with pizza and a movie. Of all the people in this city he could have dropped by to see, he picked me. I feel somewhat privileged. When we get inside I bring out my laptop, setting it on the coffee table, and let Ben set up the movie while I walk five feet away to the kitchenette to open a bottle of wine, searching the drawer for a corkscrew. Ben laughs a little when he sees the bottle on the counter. “Merlot with pizza, huh?”

“I mean it’s really the only proper way to drink Merlot,” I shrug, and again he laughs. “You like Merlot?”

“I do, yes.”

I bring two glasses over to the couch and hand one to Ben, then grab plates and a roll of paper towels for the pizza.

When I sit down, Ben scoots closer, curling his legs underneath his frame.

I know it’s only because we’re watching a movie on a tiny laptop instead of a flat screen, but still…

We’re only inches apart on the couch, and my heart races.

I just want to pull him even closer.

Would Ben want that?

I mean, I know he’s attracted to me, but is there any possibility that he suspects I feel the same?

I’m overly curious as to how this night’s going to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Here Comes The Sun"–The Beatles](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=xUNqsfFUwhY&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Boyfriend's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Or7KezMEXqlIarYmg9-mK)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	5. Excuses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Maybe I’m just making these excuses so I won’t be hurt again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Imagine"–John Lennon](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=rAn-AWXtHv0&feature=share)

“So what would you have done if I said I didn’t like pizza?” I ask, sipping on my second glass of wine and Ben shrugs in response, finishing his third slice of pizza before he answers.

“Probably throw it away and get something else,” he says, and I snort at that.

The movie is over and the credits are rolling. We’ve both seen it before, so we talked through most of it, more interested in each other than the movie. The whole night has felt like a dream. Sitting and drinking wine, eating pizza, and talking to someone I really connect with. It’s been great. We’re both sitting sideways on the couch now, facing each other, and our knees are just brushing. I don’t know if it’s the wine stripping away my inhibitions, but I can’t take my eyes off Ben.

I don’t think I could feel this way for anyone else. Because I’ve _never_ felt this way about anyone else. Ben is amazing. He’s ridiculously sweet, he laughs at all my horrible dad jokes, and he gets my sense of humor. I can picture a future with someone like Ben. I couldn’t do that with any of the women I dated. But I can picture us together, Ben lounging on the couch, with a frumpy sweater and bedhead, typing his latest novel, laughing and hiding his face in embarrassment while I snap pictures of him.

The two of us getting married, maybe buying a two-story house on the edge of town, adopting a dozen kids, or maybe just dozen pets. A furry frenzy of dogs wagging their tails when we walk through the door. Ben’s like me, he loves kids and pets, but just like me, he never found the right person to share them with. He sweeps his bangs out of his face just now, as I’m picturing this, and asks me, “So, as far as fake second dates go, how’s this one so far?” I chuckle at that.

“Pizza and a movie? Better than a five star restaurant,” I tell him, and he smiles. He looks like he doesn’t quite believe me, like I’m just saying that to be nice, so I add, “This is more my kind of thing. I’m not really into all the typical romantic tropes. I always used to go to all these high-end places with my ex wife and I hated it. Most of the women I meet would rather go to a fancy restaurant than just sit and scarf down pizza with me. And it’s nice to finally be with somebody I can let down my guard with.”

“I feel the same,” he says. “I mean, the romantic part is nice, but I think that more depends on who you’re with. And it’s nice having someone I can just be myself with. I can’t imagine I’m shaping up to be a very good fake girlfriend though,” he chuckles. “I mean, it’s not really the same thing.”

I shrug a little. “No, but… it takes the pressure off. I don’t have very many people in my life right now that I can just be friends with, without any complications. My friend Susan is about it, really.”

“How come you don’t go out with Susan?” Ben asks. “I mean, did you two ever try to date, or… Did that not work out or something? From what you’ve told me about her, she sounds like she’s your type. And she sounds really nice.”

“She is, but… I’m not really her type.”

Susan and I have only ever been friends. We met through my ex wife, but luckily I got custody of Susan in the divorce. She never really liked Helen anyway, which gave us common ground. But Susan and I never so much as attempted to date because we both knew it wouldn’t work out between us, so why ruin a perfectly good friendship with complications? Plus, aside from lacking in chemistry, I’m just not the kind of guy Susan usually goes for. She likes ‘fun guys’, she tells me. Not ‘boring intellectuals’ like me.

I would not consider myself an intellectual per say, but I do fall under Susan’s definition of boring. I don’t like nightclubs, and the only time I’ve ever attempted to dance was once in middle school. It was homecoming, it was with a girl name Rachel, and it was a slow dance. And since our parents chaperoned, they were standing five feet away, so we stayed at the appropriated distance of at least a foot of space between us, and my sweaty palms remained anchored at her waist.

I pull myself out of my thoughts and eye Ben curiously for a moment. “You know, this could be a real date,” I say, and Ben arches a brow at me. “I mean, you could be out with someone else tonight, on an actual date, but instead you’re here with me.”

Ben ducks his chin. “I know,” he says. “But I’d rather be here with you.” He crumples the paper towel resting on his lap, scrunching it up, and sets it on the coffee table, then he sighs. “I mean, it’s just so much easier, you know? If I go on a real date with someone, there are all these expectations, always strings attached, and being here with you, I don’t have to worry about any of that. I mean, I don’t have to impress you, or hope and pray we have things in common.”

I nod a little. “I know what you mean.”

“If I were to go out with a guy, it would just complicate things, you know? After everything that happened with Steve, I just don’t think I’m ready to jump in bed with someone new. And this? This is simple. And I like that. I mean, maybe it’s better this way.”

I inhale through my nose and hold my breath as I ponder that. I _really_ want to complicate things. At the moment, staring into Ben’s eyes, I want nothing more than to make things so excruciatingly complicated. But what if it didn’t work out between us? What if we have no chemistry? What if I lean in and kiss Ben, only to find out it’s not what either of us wants, and it ruins what we already have? Sadly, Ben is right, maybe it’s better this way. To just be friends. To not complicate things.

I exhale. “Yeah, maybe you’re right,” I say. “Maybe simple is better.”…

So I call Ben a cab that night, and as we’re standing downstairs waiting for the taxi, Ben slips his arms around my waist and hugs me. “Thank you,” he tells me. “You know, for being my fake boyfriend. I had a really good time tonight.”

“Me too,” I say, but it’s forced. Don’t get me wrong, I had a wonderful time hanging out with Ben tonight, but that thought of this being more keeps nagging at the back of my mind. But Ben lets go, smiles warmly up at me, and just as I open my mouth to speak the cab arrives, pulling over at the curb in front of us, and Ben pulls away. I have to let him go. I really don’t want to, but I have to. It’s the right thing to do. “Goodnight, Ben,” I say.

“Goodnight, Michael,” he smiles, then gets in the cab. I watch as it pulls away and onto the busy street. I wish I could make it turn around and come back.

But we talk a lot on the phone after that night. Call each other up at random times of day to chat. It’s good to hear Ben’s voice, and what’s even better is how happy he sounds to hear from me. Just… how happy he sounds in general. Maybe things aren’t working out how I hoped they would, but they do appear to be working out for Ben. He tells me he finally got over his writers’ block, and started working on a rough draft for a new novel. His publisher is happy about that too.

Yes, it seems like things are working out _great_ for Ben. I only partially resent that. It isn’t fair to want Ben to be miserable just like me, so I do my best to push those selfish thoughts aside, and concentrate on work. I have a few clients scheduled that week, and one in particular is Clara, who is eight, and who’s mother, Samantha, is entering Clara in a local pageant, and needs a professional portfolio. The agency recommended my studio, so Clara’s mother booked the entire morning for the shoot.

Clara is sassy, and maybe a bit of a diva, but thankfully not a spoiled brat like most pageant girls. And most girls like Clara want to be models when they grow up, but Clara would rather be Supergirl. She’s very charismatic in front of the lens. When I’m not taking professional pictures she’s even more of a treat, because she’s a complete and utter goofball. She’s a lot like Cassie. Samantha watches as we goof around, Clara pretending to be a super model while I enthusiastically snap pictures.

Since I used to do this for a living, I go into Vogue mode, and encourage Clara, like she’s a real model and we’re shooting for a magazine, just like she’s seen in movies, but instead of having her do all the various poses my wife used to do, I have her do things like cross her eyes and puff out her cheeks, stick her tongue out and other goofy faces. “Yes! Perfect! Okay now give me your super hero stance!” Clara stands up straight, folding her arms across her chest, and fixes me with a heroic look.

Samantha is laughing at us as she sits nearby. She was on her phone at first, texting a coworker about something work related–she’s in marketing and her job’s fairly demanding–but now her full focus is on her wonderful daughter. She’s grinning from ear to ear, and soon she starts making goofy faces back at Clara when she makes them at her mother. Samantha’s very beautiful. Like her daughter, she has long golden blonde hair, and bright green eyes that light up when she smiles.

I know I said I’d never date clients after what happened with Helen, but I’m seriously considering asking Samantha out on a date. I know she’s single and available. Her husband left a few years ago, and other than the occasional phone call, neither Samantha nor Clara hear from him. And after what happened with Ben the other night, I’m thinking maybe it might be a good idea to move on before either of us get hurt. Samantha’s nice, and she’s a good mom. I can tell she loves her daughter very much.

But when I hear the door swing open and I take my eye off the view finder, there, in front of me, is Ben. Smiling at us both, as he caught sight of Clara making faces. My heart falters when I see him and suddenly I’m not thinking about Samantha anymore. Ben is all I see. It’s like the world just dropped away, faded to black and suddenly Ben is the only person on the planet to me. I smile back at him, slowly rising to stand from where I’d been crouching, lowering my Nikon. “Hey stranger,” he greets.

“Hey,” is all I can say at first, until the fog clears and I remember there are two more people in the room besides us. “Ben, this is Samantha and Clara. Sam, this is my friend Ben.”

“Nice to meet you,” she says to him.

“You too,” he says, then turns to Clara who skips over to him, waving. “Well how do you do,” he greets her, bowing his head a little. She chuckles.

“You sound like a Prince,” she tells him. He chuckles.

“Indeed I am a Prince, my lady,” he bows more deeply and Clara snickers. She’s also blushing, and I can tell she has huge crush on Ben, especially with the way she twirls her hair with her fingers. “Perhaps you are a fair Princess?” he asks. She shakes her head.

“I’m Supergirl,” she states, putting her hands on her hips in her hero stance.

“Wow,” Ben commends. “That’s really cool! I’ve always wanted to meet Supergirl.”

Clara snorts. “I’m not the real Supergirl. I’m just pretending.”

“Oh okay,” Ben chuckles. He looks up at me. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by, see if you wanted to grab lunch.”

“Uh, sure, yeah, just let me finish up here,” I tell him and he nods, then takes a seat in an empty chair. He talks to Clara while I go over the photos with Samantha, have her select the photos she wants to use for Clara’s portfolio, then we divvy up the price. Samantha pays with her credit card, I hand her a receipt, then double check to make sure I have her number to call her when the photos are ready. She’s emailing the pictures to the agency, but also wants printed copies for herself and Clara.

Samantha and Clara leave, then it’s just me and Ben in the studio. “So I was actually meeting Susan in a few minutes for lunch at the café down the street. Would you like to join us?” I offer.

Ben nods. “I’d love to,” he says.

I hold out my elbow for Ben to take my arm, just like I did the first time we walked to the café, and he smirks, curling his arm in mine.

I know I’m only torturing myself at this point, but I’ll take what I can get.

Susan is already there when we arrive, waiting at a table, and is surprised and curious to see I’ve brought a friend. She looks cute today. Her long brown hair is pulled over one shoulder in a braid, and she’s wearing a beret that pairs well with her overly large, loose fitting knit sweater and leggings. Her eyes widen behind her black rimmed glasses and a huge smile spreads across her face. “Well, well, who’s this little cutie?” she asks, admiring Ben, and he blushes a little.

“Susan, this Ben. Ben, this is Susan Graham,” I introduce, and Ben blinks a few times. His mouth opens in an ‘oh’.

“Wait I… I know you,” he says to her. “I read your articles, and I follow your blog almost religiously.”

“Hmm, someone’s a fan, huh?” she asks, grinning, and Ben nods.

“Huge fan, actually,” he gushes. “You didn’t tell me you were friends with Susan Graham,” he huffs at me and I chuckle. Ben turns back to Susan, “I have so many questions about your work.”

We sit down at the table, Susan right across from me, Ben to her right, and order coffee. Then I listen as Ben and Susan flood each other with questions about their careers, and get to know one another a little. Susan asks how we met and Ben tells her about meeting me at her charity event when he crashed the party and decided I would make the perfect candidate for a fake boyfriend. “Oh that reminds me to ask,” she tells me. “How are things with you and that girl?”

“Girl?” Ben questions, arching a brow.

“Mike told me he met someone at the event,” Susan says. “But you never said, how are things working out?”

“Ah,” I rub my neck in angst. “Uhm... Yeah that–that didn’t work out _quite_ how I thought it would,” I explain. Susan groans.

“Oh Mikey,” she sighs, and I pinch my lips at the nickname. “Well, you can’t blame it on the divine intervention clause this time around,” she says. “I may have invited you, but I didn’t introduce you both, so it doesn’t count.”

“Divine intervention clause?” Ben questions, confused.

“It’s what he likes to call someone setting him up with a woman,” Susan explains with a huff. “Anything like blind dates, speed dating, even dating apps, any form of intervention in the ‘natural order’ of dating. He says it’s cheating.”

“I said it’s _like_ cheating,” I correct.

“He’s a romantic, and thinks the perfect woman will just fall into his lap.”

I roll my eyes at that. “I’m not a romantic.”

“Well, you _think_ like a romantic. He thinks the right woman will just magically appear. And if it’s in any way orchestrated by someone else, it’s ‘divine intervention’ and it doesn’t count.”

“It sounds like you believe in fate, Mr. Lance,” Ben smirks at me.

I fumble for a second.

I didn’t used to.

But lately I’ve been giving it some thought, at least.

“I, well, I don’t,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m not really one for the whole ‘destinies entwined’; I’m just old fashioned.”

“Honey, not with _that_ shirt,” Susan chuckles. “That isn’t the _least_ bit fashionable. You’re just old.”

I scowl a little. “I just don’t like being introduced to someone with intent of dating them. I like it better if it happens naturally.”

“I get that,” Ben shrugs. “I’m the same way… Of course, it’s mostly because I _am_ a romantic and I _do_ believe in fate, or… at least I did.” His smile fades, and I know it’s because he’s thinking about Steve. How Steve was supposed to be ‘the one’, but things didn’t work out between them like he thought they would. I chew my lip a little. Ben sucks in a breath. “But I do have to agree that when you do find the right person, it should feel right too. And I think dating apps are a little weird.”

“Ha, see?!” I exclaim and Susan rolls her eyes. “Ben agrees with me. Dating apps are weird, Sue.”

“You’re both hopeless,” she sighs at us, and both Ben and I chuckle at that. We spend an hour talking before Susan has to rush back to her office, and after we say our goodbyes, Susan asking Ben to join us for lunch again sometime, Ben moves to the seat directly across from mine and stares for a minute, disbelievingly at me. I have no idea why, and I’m sure it shows on my face. It’s a half smile, half bewilderment.

“What?” I ask, and he shakes his head a little.

“I just can’t believe it,” he says.

“Believe what?”

“I… It’s just when you mentioned you had a friend named Susan, I never expected it to be Susan Graham, one of the most influential spokespeople of the trans community. It’s… it’s just surprising really.”

I furrow my brow in confusion. “Okay, I’m not really understanding here. Are you shocked because Susan is trans, or are you shocked that I’m friends with a trans person?”

“I…” He ends up chuckling, shaking his head again. “I just wasn’t expecting it. I’m just…” He reaches for my hand resting on the table and squeezes it. “I’m just pleasantly surprised, Mr. Lance,” he smiles at me.

He removes his hand and I so desperately want it back. But I sigh and say, “I get it. You just don’t expect that from someone like me, a middle aged straight guy. I mean, everyone experiences dissent, everyone gets weirded out by something, and most people aren’t comfortable with the fact that Susan identifies as a woman. So that’s what you were expecting. And it’s a bit of a shock to you that I’m not transphobic and have no problem with treating Susan like a woman.”

Ben winces a little. “I don’t mean any offense, but yeah, kind of. I just didn’t expect you to be so comfortable with Susan. Or that you would treat her like a normal person, like everybody else.”

I chuckle. “I grew up in a fairly liberal household,” I explain. “Both my parents are from the baby boomer generation, and I’m pretty sure I was _conceived_ at Woodstock.” Ben laughs at that. “But I was raised to believe that you shouldn’t judge a person based on _what_ they are, but by _who_ they are. And Susan is a wonderful person, regardless of how she presents herself. I would rather she be happy being herself than being forced to fit into a gender role she’s not comfortable with.”

Ben stares for another minute at me, and again I’m not sure why. But he smiles softly and stares up at me with those big sparkling blue eyes, and suddenly I just want to wrap myself in them. Stay right here in this moment, looking into Ben’s eyes, and never leave. I bite my lip a little, contemplating whether or not I should tell Ben how I feel about him. I tell myself it’s for the best that we stay friends, but I start to wonder if maybe I’m not actually trying to protect Ben, but… maybe just _myself_.

Maybe I’m just making these excuses so I won’t be hurt again.

Maybe that’s what they are. Excuses.

But Ben smiles at me and says, “I’m so happy I met you, Michael.”

And I force myself to smile back.

Because I’m happy for that too, despite everything else.

“So you really don’t have any kind of phobia?” he asks me, and I shake my head. “Not even arachnophobia?”

I shrug. “No, I like spiders actually, as long as there’s a camera lens between us. They’re very photogenic… Total divas though.”

Ben laughs, and I swear, I’ve never heard a sweeter sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Here Comes The Sun"–The Beatles](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=xUNqsfFUwhY&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Boyfriend's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Or7KezMEXqlIarYmg9-mK)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	6. Amazing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I’m not really sure of Jenna’s motives here, but I’m pretty sure they’re desperate, because insofar it seems like the only thing Ben and Craig have in common is the fact that they’re both gay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Strawberry Fields Forever"–The Beatles](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=wwrTkhD_zm8&feature=share)

“I have a really weird favor to ask,” Ben tells me on the phone, using the same frantic tone of voice he did the very first time he asked a favor of me, the night we met.

“Okay, what sort of weird favor?” I ask, curiosity peaked.

He sighs. “Okay, so I have this friend…”

“Yeah?”

“Her name is Jenna…”

“And?”

“Will you go out with her?”

“What?!” I laugh, almost dropping the phone.

“Not like on a date–okay, maybe sort of a date–but I was just wondering if you would _be_ her date.”

“I’m not really following.”

“Well, she wants me to go out with this guy that she says is really great, that I would really like, and I didn’t want to tell her no, because she’s just trying to be a good friend, so I asked her to come too, you know, that way it wouldn’t be so awkward since they already know each other, and she could be kind of a buffer or something but I didn’t want her to be stuck being a third wheel so I told her I’d find someone to go with us.”

He pauses to suck in a breath.

“You don’t, like, have to like her or anything, I just thought maybe if it was a double date it might be kind of fun, and I thought of you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you’re kind of the only single straight guy I know well enough to ask on a really weird double date, so…” Ben sighs. “So can you tag along?”

“Uhm,” I scratch my head, absorbing the string of information Ben rattled off so quickly and think it over. “Let me ask first… do you actually _want_ to go out with this guy? I mean, what happened to the whole ‘I’m not ready to jump in bed with someone after Steve’?”

“Well, I’m not. And I don’t. But I couldn’t just say no to Jenna, and… I don’t know, maybe she’s right, you know, like maybe I might actually like this guy.”

An odd sensation crawls over me akin to jealousy at the thought of Ben going out with someone else, but I force myself to come to terms with it. It was likely to happen at some point if I didn’t make a move, so I guess this is the universe’s way of saying I missed my shot, and I need to get over it. I would be a terrible friend for saying no. Ben’s like me, so I know he doesn’t like being set up with someone either, and I know this will be awkward for him.

The part of me that really, really cares about Ben kind of wants to tag along to be his support system, if he needs me to. “So you want me to be your wing-man?”

“More or less, yeah,” he says. “And you might like Jenna.” I sigh at that. He sounds like Susan right now, and I try my hardest not to hold that against him. “At least as a friend. We can never have too many friends, right?”

I chuckle. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

“And you know this means I’ll owe you big time, and I’m sure at some point you’ll want to cash in on that favor.”

“Hmm, I do like the idea of blackmailing you into doing my bidding,” I joke, and he snorts.

And that’s how I get suckered into going on a double date with Ben.

Ben and I take a cab together to the restaurant, where Jenna and her friend Craig are already waiting for us with a table. It’s a pretty fancy restaurant, which means I can predict which direction this date is going to go. South. Very, very south. But Jenna seems okay. She’s cute too. With long strawberry blonde hair, freckles dotting her cheeks and nose, and beautiful green eyes. She’s much younger than me, but seems mature for her age.

Craig, on the other hand, is not really what I was expecting. I’m not really sure of Jenna’s motives here, but I’m pretty sure they’re desperate, because insofar it seems like the only thing Ben and Craig have in common is the fact that they’re both gay. Otherwise, they’re almost complete opposites. I know the whole saying of ‘opposites attract’ can sometimes work for people, but I’m not really getting that vibe in Ben’s case.

As soon as we sit down, Ben and Craig across from one another, he smiles at Craig, but it looks forced, and there’s a glint in his eye that I’ve become quite familiar with. Like any second now Ben will turn to me and say, “Just kill me, please.” Because Craig is… prissy. That’s really the only way I can describe him. He kind of reminds me a little bit of Jeremy, the attention seeking diva, only he’s not a model. He’s a social worker.

Which is great; I think that’s a wonderful, selfless job that doesn’t really get enough praise. But he’s a little pushy, if you ask me. And he’s not even Ben’s type. I know from experience that Ben prefers guys more like me. Tall, relatively fit men with dark hair. You know, more masculine guys. Craig is none of those things. He’s short, thin and a redhead. He’s a bit effeminate too, which there is nothing wrong with, but I don’t see Ben being interested in him.

Aside from physical attractiveness, Craig seems lacking in personality as well. And when the server comes to our table to take our orders, he’s very rude. Ben does not look impressed. Craig is vegan, which I have no problem with, but he speaks way too condescendingly to the server when asking about the menu, and my first thought is, ‘If you have such a big problem with it, why not go to a vegan restaurant?’ But I assume Jenna picked the place.

He goes on and on about animal cruelty, and I watch as the server’s face slowly drains of all color as he describes in vivid detail the awful things that are done to animals by the food industry. I almost lose my appetite. He knit picks about whether or not the produce on the menu is _actually_ organic or just _marketed_ as organic before finally ordering a salad, heavy on _organic_ dressing, with a whole grain wheat roll on the side.

I watch as Ben’s neutral expression slowly morphs into one of thinly masked irritation with every word that falls out of Craig’s mouth, and I can already guess this relationship isn’t going to work out. For one thing, Ben doesn’t even diet. He just eats whatever he wants then feels guilty about it later. But I’ve watched him engulf a double pepperoni extra cheese pizza with no remorse whatsoever.

There is no way Ben is going to drastically change his lifestyle overnight to appease this guy. The woman serving us this evening looks like she’s fighting tooth and nail to remain civil as she patiently waits for Craig to place his order, then, with a sigh of relief she turns to Ben. I know what’s coming. I force myself to stay serious and not crack so much as a smile as Ben smiles warmly up at her and simply says, “I’ll have the steak.”

Across from me, Jenna chokes a little on her water, and dabs her mouth with a napkin as she’s coughing. Craig is ghost white as Ben continues with, “And make it bloody.”

The server pinches her lips together, obviously suppressing a grin and jots it down on her pad, then clicks her pen. “And what side would you like with that, sir?”

Ben snorts. “Would another steak be out of the question?” She chuckles at that, and at this point I have to cup my mouth with my hand to keep from laughing. The look on Craig’s face is absolutely priceless and now, if ever, would be a time I wish I’d brought my camera to capture this precious moment. Ben gives her a serious answer and orders a couple of side dishes to pair with his bloody rare steak, then the server takes mine and Jenna’s order.

I go for the chicken cacciatore, and Jenna orders the crab salad. Now it’s my turn to shift in discomfort beside Ben. Because of my allergy, looks like kissing Jenna is definitely out of the question. Not that I want to. She’s pretty, and she’s the kind of woman usually I go for, but I can’t bring myself to be even remotely interested in her right now. Not when Ben is beside me. I can’t really blame it on how long I’ve been lonely and single either.

It’s just that Ben is what I want. All I want. I could care less about any woman on the planet right now with Ben next to me, smiling at me like that. Across from him, Craig still looks pretty uncomfortable, and I imagine that were he not a friend of Jenna’s, and therefore not having to be polite, he would have thrown in the towel and stormed out of the restaurant the second Ben placed his order. I won’t lie, I feel pretty smug right now.

There is no way in hell Ben will end up with this guy, and that jealous part of my brain is reveling in that bit of knowledge. We sip our drinks and talk shop, discussing our careers. Jenna is a sales representative for an insurance company. Sounds boring to me, but she seems to really like her job, based on her enthusiasm. She asks me about my freelance work, asks me why I quit Vogue, and I sum it up to the best of my ability.

“Wow, you were working for one of the biggest magazines in the country, and went from that to working at some dumpy little studio?” she laughs, and I’m hurt. But I hide my offense behind a noncommittal shrug. Beside me Ben purses his lips at Jenna. “I mean, all that money you threw away. You could be a billionaire by now, and you’re stuck snapping photos of some suburban family for their Christmas card? That has to hurt.”

Well, it _didn’t_ , until she made me sound like I’m some kind of washed up loser just now.

I try not to hold it against Ben, because it’s hardly his fault, but upon hearing that, suddenly I don’t like Jenna so much anymore. She made my work sound so meaningless, so mundane. I mean, I know it’s mundane, but it makes me happy.

I count the minutes until food arrives. I guarantee Ben is doing the same. Hiding behind his saccharine smile is a young man in excruciating pain listening to the sound of Craig’s annoying voice. I’m having sympathy pains for him right now, just watching him. But finally the food arrives and conversation slows. Craig grimaces a little as he watches Ben cut into the juicy red slab of meat on his plate, humming, “Mmm, this smells delicious.”

I have to say my chicken is pretty good too. “You need to try this,” I tell Ben after taking my first bite.

“Oh here, trade me,” he says, holding up a bite of creamy garlic potatoes with his fork and I take it, trading Ben a bite of my chicken. “Oh you’re right, that is good.”

My mouth explodes with the new flavor of garlic and my eyes roll back. “We might need to trade plates,” I say and Ben laughs. Jenna and Craig watch this with mild fascination, just seeing how comfortable we are with one another. Sharing food? Yeah I think it’s crazy too, that I’m way more comfortable with Ben than I ever was my ex wife. But I try not to read too much into it because I know Ben only wants to be friends.

Obviously feeling a little left out of the loop, Jenna holds up a fork full of crab meat and asks, “Would you like to try some of mine?”

“Oh, uh, sorry I can’t. I probably should have mentioned this, but I’m allergic.”

“Oh,” she chirps, and sets her fork down. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. Just any kind of crustacean makes me swell up like a balloon and I didn’t bring an EpiPen, so…yeah.”

“Oh. Okay.”

It gets awkward for a moment, at least until Craig breaks the silence with more conversation, and I piddle along, mostly concentrating on my meal, but half listening to Craig drone on and on about his work. He seems pretty self absorbed, and at this point, I think both Ben and I are ready to blow our brains out listening to this. But after about an hour, the server comes back to the table with the check. I offer to pay for everyone.

I make sure to add a heavy tip for the server, who definitely earned it after having to listen to Craig demoralize her for twenty minutes, and doing so with utmost patience. Ben fishes out his wallet to drop some cash on the table for her too, and the four of us leave the establishment. I hail a cab for Jenna and Craig. Neither of us plan on extending the evening and going home with either of those two. Jenna and Craig say goodnight, and drive off.

Ben exhales like he’s been holding his breath the whole night. “Do me a favor,” he says. “Don’t ever let me do that again.”

“That bad, huh?” I chuckle as Ben wraps his arms around my bicep, leaning on my arm, and we take off down the sidewalk in a slow, casual stroll. “So I take it you’re not going to let Jenna set you up with people anymore?”

“No,” he laughs. “Definitely not. I have definitely learned my lesson. That had to have been the worst date I’ve ever been on.” Ben sighs. “Thank you for coming with me. I honestly can’t imagine what I would’ve done otherwise. I mean, that was just so awkward. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for clean, healthy living, but Craig, he’s… ugh! Just ugh! If I ever date a guy like Craig, just shoot me. I’d rather be dead.”

“So why was Jenna trying to set you up with this guy in the first place?” I ask him, and again he sighs.

“She thinks I’m lonely and miserable without Steve, and because _she’s_ lonely and desperate, she assumes that _everyone_ is. She just doesn’t understand how I can possibly be happy being single,” he shrugs. He leans into my arm once more, head resting on my shoulder. “But you’re the only man I need in my life right now,” he tells me, and my heart pounds noisily in my ears for a second. I know he didn’t mean that how it sounds, but still.

“So, you want to grab a cup of coffee?” I ask, pulse racing.

“I would _love_ a cup of coffee,” Ben sighs…

“Let me ask you something,” he says, after blowing a little on his mocha cappuccino to cool the broiling hot liquid before taking a sip.

“Okay?” I prompt, setting down my latte.

“Why don’t you take Eric up on his offer to showcase your work in his gallery?”

I sigh at that, rubbing the back of my neck, then shrug a little. “Showcase what though? I mean, besides some random pictures taken at the park, what do I really have? Other than photos of kids like Cassie at the dance studio, and Clara? That’s… not really the kind of thing Eric usually hangs in his gallery, you know? He has so many new and upcoming artists with a lot of talent, and I just don’t have that creative spark like I used to.”

“Yes you do,” Ben tells me, shaking his head at my dismissal.

“I don’t know,” I shrug. “I mean, maybe Jenna’s right. She made me sound like some washed up has-been, and maybe I am.”

“You’re _not_ ,” Ben says. “And I’m so sorry Jenna made you feel that way. You shouldn’t. You told me once that ever since you quit Vogue you’ve struggled to find meaning in your work, but you _love_ what you do now. And I can see that. You love the simple things in life. You love capturing all those little moments. Like with Cassie and Clara. And your photos are _beautiful_ , Michael. Why not just showcase that? It doesn’t have to be edgy and unique to be art. Just meaningful. Even if it’s only to you.”

I can do nothing but sigh at that. Ben is just so heartfelt it’s almost surreal. I’ve never had someone be so supportive of my passion either, which is crazy.

“When I write my novels,” he says, leaning in closer, smiling a little, “I don’t do it just to make other people happy. I do it because I love it. I don’t write to impress people, I write to tell a story. And your art, Michael, it tells a story too. Your story. It’s worth sharing with the world.” He reaches across the table and pats my hand. “You should at least consider it,” he tells me. “You never know, it might actually make you happy.”

I smirk a little. “Thank you,” I tell him, taking his hand and squeezing it. “I think I needed that.”

“You’re very welcome,” he says.

I do consider it. Later that night, when I’m back at my apartment, I think about everything Ben said, and I think about Eric’s offer. It’s crazy, and not something I would have considered before now. But after everything Ben told me, a spark of an idea comes to me and I rush downstairs to my darkroom, flip on the light, then start sifting through my prints until I find the precise one I’m looking for. It’s not like anything I’ve done before, but I think it might work.

I call Eric. “Hey, Eric? How are you?”

“Great. It’s good to hear from you. There’s not actually a chance you’re calling because you changed your mind is there?”

“Actually… I did.”

“Really? That’s wonderful!”

“One question though. Do have room for a five by seven?”

Eric laughs. “Well, yeah, of course. I have a whole floor. Of course I can fit a five by seven inch frame.”

“No, not inches. Five by seven _feet_.”

“What are you going to hang that’s five by seven feet?”

I stare down at the picture of Ben I took at the park, and smile.

“Something amazing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Here Comes The Sun"–The Beatles](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=xUNqsfFUwhY&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Boyfriend's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Or7KezMEXqlIarYmg9-mK)!
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	7. Headliner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _We turn away from Ben’s photo and move to another corner of the room._
> 
> _It’s then that I see a face I wish I hadn’t._
> 
> _That of my ex wife._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Stairway To Heaven"–Led Zeppelin](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=iXQUu5Dti4g&feature=share)

It takes a few days to sift through all the photos I have in my studio for the showing at the gallery. Then a few more days contacting the clients who’s children are in the photos, whom I’m not about to put on public display in a modern art gallery without expressed permission. Thankfully most of them are fine with it. Especially Clara’s mother. She thinks it would be great exposure for her daughter, and her agent is fine with it too. Cassie’s mother is absolutely thrilled by my idea.

You see, the theme is ‘Recaptured Youth’, so I have Cassie’s photo enlarged and plan to display it next to an enlarged photo of one of Laura’s dancers doing an actual pirouette, to give the ambiance of recapturing that child-like glee inside of everyone when they accomplish their dreams, those they had when they were children, and have reached that pinnacle moment of their life that their dreams have been realized. Because talking to Ben sort of revitalized my passion for photography in a similar sense.

What he said to me reminded me why I wanted to be a photographer in the first place, and ever since that night, I have been absorbed in it, that old spark of passion I used to have for stepping out into the world and capturing little bits of its beauty one photo at a time. That spark I thought I had lost. He reminded me of the young Michael Lance that simply loved the art form, who didn’t care about the money or the fame, but simply followed his dreams. The man I used to be.

I kind of feel like it reflects our friendship as well. It seems like every moment spent with Ben I feel young again, like my old self, like the kind of guy who took risks, who took chances, leapt blindly into life without a care. Who didn’t worry about the consequences and just enjoyed the simple things in life. I guess it’s because Ben is so much like me at that age. Carefree. Like how he randomly shows up at my apartment with pizza and never seems to mind what other people think.

I stopped being a risk taker after my ex wife, but Ben has definitely worked to renew my sense of adventure, only instead of flying to Kenya, I’m eating more junk food and staying up way past my bedtime. I have probably close to fifty prints already of Ben’s negative, as I’d already been experimenting with various hues, levels of grain and contrast, but I make dozens more until I have just the one I want for my exposé. Then I have it sent out to be copied, enlarged, printed and framed.

I would do all the work myself and hand print every single photo in my darkroom for the exhibit, but I don’t have that kind of time, money for the materials, or even a big enough space to enlarge them all. But I have a friend that can do it, exactly the way I want, for a reasonable price, and I also have Eric’s expertise for this kind of thing, and mostly follow his suggestions based on floor space and design. The silver lining is that every photo is film, not digital, and all were taken with my old Canon.

Oh and Eric loved my idea too, when I ran it by him, which surprised me a little.

He told me he was getting kind of tired of the usual political pieces and abstract art people threw in his face, and said he was looking forward to showcasing something a little more ‘wholesome’ for a change. He’s more excited than I am about my exhibition, and the feeling welling inside me is bordering utter bliss. This will certainly raise a few brows in the art community, and I almost can’t wait. Opening night at the gallery cannot come soon enough. The day before, I call Ben to tell him the good news.

“Michael that’s wonderful,” he tells me, after I told him about my spur of the moment decision to accept Eric’s offer.

“It starts at eight,” I tell him.

“I will most definitely be there,” he says, and I can hear the excitement in his voice. “Black tie?”

“Eh, semi-formal,” I say. “It’s not a closed exhibit or anything, and it’s free admission, open to the public, so it’ll be a fairly casual event. I can send a car to pick you up.”

“Okay, great. I’ll text you the address,” he says.

I meet Eric at the gallery earlier in the evening to go over any last minute details with a fine toothed comb. He looks pretty sharp, with his black hair combed to one side, his black suit jacket and vest, and his red bow tie. I feel kind of lackluster in comparison with my–cheap knockoff–black button down, sleeves rolled up to my elbows, matching black slacks and shoes. Eight o’clock rolls around and the gallery is packed. Eric called his people and they _flocked_.

It may not be a red carpet event but it feels like one. For a moment, I flash back to what feels like ages ago, when I worked for Vogue, and Helen and I would make public appearances. The press is all over it. Waiters weave their way through groups with champagne and hors d’oeuvres. For just a moment, I regret it, as I start to feel overwhelmed and out of my league, wondering why I ever used to enjoy this type of thing, until I spot a flash of blonde near the entrance.

It’s Ben, and he looks pretty put together, I must say, in a blue dress shirt, a gray vest and matching slacks. He weaves his way through the crowd, wandering to the photos on display. A soft smile spreads on his face when he first spots Cassie’s photo in the corner. But there’s more. Another photo he has yet to see catches his attention. It’s pretty special to me too. It’s of two siblings, Tom and Brandon, Tom wearing a black turtle neck and jeans, holding my Nikon and taking Brandon’s picture.

It’s black and white, like all the other pictures on display, and Ben stares, transfixed, at the photo. I was reminiscent of my youth when I took that photo and it just worked so well with the rest of it that I tracked down their parents and asked them if I could put it on display. Ben hasn’t seen me yet, and I politely excuse myself from present company to make my way over to him, watching as he peruses my work. “That’s one of my favorites,” I say, and he turns sharply, startled, but smiles.

“I like it,” he says. “It makes me think of you.”

I chuckle a little. I snag a glass of champagne for Ben when a server walks by and the two of us wander the gallery, talking about the photos. Most people when they ask about my work want to know my process. What type of camera I use, if it’s digital or film, etcetera. But with Ben, I can talk about the stories behind each. At the far end are some photos of a teen youth group that were volunteering in the neighborhood, and I tell him about the kids.

We talk for a little while longer after that before we’re interrupted. It’s a pleasant interruption though, as Eric wanders over to introduce himself. The art director is very charismatic, considering his line of work. I always thought by now Eric would have morphed into a shrewd, disgruntled and snooty curmudgeon after dealing with so many narcissistic personalities that the art scene always drags out, but instead he’s just warmer and friendlier each year we meet up at social events.

He’s especially smitten with Ben, and who wouldn’t be honestly. The part of me that wants to be a good friend, who knows Eric is gay and a pretty decent guy, contemplates suggesting the two of them go out together sometime, maybe have a drink, get to know one another. But the jealous possessive Michael Lance that is hopelessly in love with Ben wins over by brute strength and keeps my mouth shut up tight. I don’t mind if it happens naturally though. Besides, Ben doesn’t like being set up.

Suggesting they go out falls under the intervention clause, so I say nothing and simply smile. But then Eric says, “You are even more captivating than your picture,” to Ben, who smiles, but gets that confused look on his face for a split second and glances up at me curiously.

“Thank you,” he manages, but he’s still casting me a worried side glance. Eric excuses himself to socialize with other guests and Ben turns to me completely. “What did he mean about my picture?” he asks and I sigh a little and nod understandingly. Ben’s picture. I jerk my head toward the other end of the gallery and lead him to it. His brows raise at the five by seven frame of himself, sitting on a park bench, smiling as a group of pigeons gather around him, and he’s holding out his hand, tossing crumbs at their feet.

“I meant to tell you but I sort of forgot?” I say, scratching my head. “Sorry about that. I just got caught up in everything with the exhibit that it sort of slipped my mind. I–I know I probably should’ve run it by you first, but–”

“No, it’s okay,” he assures me. “I would’ve said yes. But, uhm, Michael?”

“Yeah?”

“Why is my picture so much bigger than all the others and so strategically placed in the gallery?”

I chuckle. “Well, it’s sort of the focal point, actually. I mean, the theme is ‘Recaptured Youth’ and this is all thanks to you anyway, so I figured yours should be the, you know, the ‘piece de resistance’ if you will. Plus it kind of ties it all together, really.”

“What do you mean, thanks to me?” he asks me.

“I honestly don’t think I would’ve done this otherwise,” I answer. “But what you told me, about telling my story, about sharing what I’m passionate about with people, well, it kind of spurred me. It…” I take breath. “It reminded me of why I fell in love with photography in the first place. Watching my grandfather take pictures, not just because it paid the rent, but simply because it was what he loved. And being around you kind of… rekindled that feeling, I suppose.”

He smiles at me. “I’m glad,” he says, and looks back up at his profile, leaning his head to the side and studying it. “Oh, I get it,” he then says. “Re- _captured_ Youth. That’s clever.” I smirk at that. “Are you really that insecure about your age, though?”

I shrug. “Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly a young spry seventeen.”

He snorts. “Oh my god you’re not _that_ old,” he sighs at me, rolling his eyes. I would beg to differ. “No, seriously, you’re not old. And still, you shouldn’t be so self conscious about age. Women _like_ older men.”

“Not when they’re older women themselves,” I tell him. “Women my age generally go _younger_.”

“But older men have more experience,” he says, suggestively, with a lascivious grin and something primal in me rouses at that sultry tone of voice. I very rarely hear Ben use that flirty suggestive tone, but when I do, it does something to me. I would disagree with him and say, ‘I’m an exception to that rule’ because I have absolutely no experience whatsoever with a man, but I’d rather not sully the compliment he’s trying to pay me. So I simply snort and shake my head at him.

We turn away from Ben’s photo and move to another corner of the room.

It’s then that I see a face I wish I hadn’t.

That of my _ex wife_.

To my utmost horror, I see Helen entering the gallery and my blood runs cold. “Shit,” I mutter under my breath, but Ben hears it and grows concerned. There can only be one reason she’s here. She saw my name in the upcoming events on Eric’s website and thinks I’m back in the game. Which also means she’s here for one of two reasons. One, she wants to rub it in my face that she’s so happy without me, or two, she’s single and wants to slowly weasel her way back into my life like the sadistic viper she is.

“What’s wrong?” Ben asks, and I wince.

“You see the incredibly beautiful redhead in the white low cut dress?” I ask and he nods. “That’s my ex wife.”

“Whoa,” he quips. His eyes wander over her form as she scans the gallery, probably looking for me. I can’t let her see me like this. Lonely and desperate with three day old scruff? She’ll think I’m still pining for her. I need a plan. More specifically, I need a buffer. I don’t see Susan anywhere. She was supposed to be stopping by but she hasn’t showed up yet. My mind races as I think of something, anything, and suddenly it hits me. I turn frantically to Ben.

“I need you to do me a favor.”

“What’s that?”

“I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend.”

“What?”

Ben gapes at me for a solid ten seconds and suddenly I understand completely the level of anxiety he must’ve felt the night we met. My heart is pounding in my ears and I know any second now Helen will turn her head this way and pick me out of the crowd. I down my half a glass of champagne in angst. “Michael, you do realize that if we pretended to be dating, everyone in this city will think you’re gay, right?” he says, but I’m only half listening, because I think Helen just saw me.

“That is honestly the _least_ of my concerns right now,” I hiss, breaking into a sweat. “Just _please_ do it. I did it for you.”

“Yeah but that was before I knew you were a famous photographer!” he hisses back. “Do you not realize the number of newspapers and magazines here tonight that will eat you alive if you’re seen holding hands with another man at your art showing?!”

“I would _rather_ be gay than for my witch of an ex wife to see that I’m single and think I’m still in love with her.” I turn to Ben pleadingly once more, fixing him with my best puppy dog face. “Please? I swear I’ll never ask you to do it again, and we’ll call it even on the double date from hell, while we’re at it. Come on, you owe me. Just five minutes. _Please_.” Ben stares disbelievingly up at me for a moment before he finally sighs and nods, blessedly just before Helen makes her way toward us.

Steve Porter may be the budding actor aspiring to Broadway, but it’s Ben Turner that deserves an Oscar, because his switch from disgruntled to happy and hopelessly in love is awe inspiring. When Helen approaches he smiles and slips his arm around my waist, and mine goes around his shoulders. Intrinsically we mold together like we were made for each other, and Helen’s polite smile falters, brows raising in her surprise. It only lasts a moment before she slips back into her calm, collected demeanor.

“Mikey,” she greets me, like she’s greeting an old friend, with a serene smile curving her ruby red lips. I bristle at the way she addresses me. “It’s good to see you.”

Heh. Right. Sure.

“Helen,” I greet stiffly with a forced smile. “How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been good,” she says.

Not wanting to be rude, I introduce Ben. “Helen, this is Ben Turner, my boyfriend,” I say, and he gives a friendly wave. “Ben this is my ex wife, Helen Banks.”

“Nice to meet you,” he says, but she already paled at the word ‘boyfriend’.

“Boyfriend,” she deadpans, stoically, almost disbelievingly. But she maintains composure. “I… didn’t know you were bisexual.”

I inhale through my nose and smile through that remark, only thinly laced with resignation. Not that Helen is homophobic, but I sense that Ben’s arm around me threw a bit of a wrench in her plans. Which means she’d half hoped there was a chance we’d rekindle the romance and get back together. Hell would have to freeze over before that would ever happen. But she squares her shoulders, smiles and says, “So I see you’ve gotten back in the swing of things.” She gestures to the gallery around us.

I shrug. “I was inspired,” I say, squeezing Ben, glancing down at him. He gives me that ‘aw shucks’ smile, blushing.

“Ah, yes, I saw that you’re the headlining piece,” she says to Ben, referring to his photo hanging nearby. “I have to say, Mike, I’m surprised. This isn’t your usual kind of work. It’s very… unique.” She glances around the room. “So what is it that you do, Ben?” she asks, making conversation.

“I’m a novelist,” he says. “I just started working on a new book actually.” He grins at me. “I had inspiration too.” He winks. I chuckle at that. I don’t know how inspiring I could possibly be, but I guess I’ll have to wait until I read his finished work to find out. Helen continues on to ask about his career, and he elaborates. She appears interested, but I can tell she really isn’t. I don’t think Helen’s ever read a book, honestly. If it’s not a fashion magazine, it’s encrypted code, for all she cares.

She has the depth of a kiddie pool.

And the intellect of a single celled organism, to match.

I was an idiot for ever marrying her.

Ben feels so warm against me, and I’m momentarily distracted by the feeling of him hugging my side as I listen to their conversation. With how good this feels, so natural and effortless, once again I wonder why I’m only pretending. After tonight, everyone I know is going to think I’m gay anyway, so why don’t I just go for it. Surely Ben feels the same. I mean, this is why we’re such good friends isn’t it? Because Ben feels a connection with me he can’t find in anyone else.

“I have to say, I’m surprised to see you so focused, Mike,” Helen says. She chuckles. “Nothing could ever keep his interest,” she tells Ben. “He was always chasing after the next awe inspiring thing,” she says. “He was obsessed with his work. If he couldn’t snap a picture of it, he could care less about it. If it wasn’t in front of his camera lens, it pretty much didn’t exist to him.” I see what she’s doing here. She’s implying that’s where our marriage went wrong, and it’s like she’s warning Ben of my fatal flaws.

I see Ben’s lip twitch a little. “That’s strange,” he comments, gazing up at me. “I don’t seem to have that problem.” He giggles. “Sometimes he’s so focused on me when he _should_ be focused on work,” he says. “I can’t keep him _off_ me.”

I smirk devilishly. “You can hardly blame me,” I say.

“No, and I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he says and reaches up to peck my cheek with a kiss and without even realizing I turn and place a kiss on his forehead, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like we’ve been together for years. Helen smiles, but I see the jealous hatred simmering in her green eyes. “Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Helen,” Ben tells her. “If you’ll excuse us. I do hope you enjoy the exhibition,” he smiles, gloatingly.

She takes her dismissal in stride, smiles and walks away. I exhale the breath I’ve been holding. “I need some air,” I say when she’s out of earshot. Ben nods in agreement. We refill on champagne, the step out a side door that leads out on a fire escape, where it’s quiet, and the only sounds are that of the city. I sigh, shaking my head, thinking about everything Helen said about me. I down my glass of champagne and set the empty flute on the rail. “She right about me,” I admit.

“What are you talking about?”

“About nothing keeping my interest,” I elaborate, morosely. “And maybe if I hadn’t been so focused on work, I would’ve seen my marriage was falling apart before it was too late.”

“No, you can’t blame yourself for your wife’s mistakes, Michael,” he says. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“But she was right though. I mean, if it wasn’t in front of my lens, it didn’t matter to me. I didn’t give her the attention she needed from me. I couldn’t. I was so wrapped up in my work I didn’t see that I was driving her into someone else’s arms. Someone who would give her everything I couldn’t, everything she deserved.”

“No,” Ben adamantly shakes his head. “No, just because you didn’t pay enough attention to her, that’s _no_ excuse for her _cheating_ on you, Michael,” he states. “Did you cheat on her?”

“No.”

“Were you abusive to her?”

“No, _god_ no,” I shake my head.

“Then you didn’t do anything that couldn’t be helped. But instead of opting to repair the relationship, or ending it, she chose infidelity. That was her choice. That was not something you _drove_ her to do. You just… had problems. The two of you just weren’t meant for each other. And that’s not your fault.” Halfway though Ben’s words to me I wonder if he’s also telling himself this, or if this is just what he’s learned from his experience, but nevertheless I nod and concede the point he’s making.

“And just because that’s who you were then, that doesn’t mean that’s who you are now,” he adds. “And when you do find the right woman, you won’t make the same mistakes. Because you’ll be so deeply in love with her, _she’ll_ be the one behind your lens, that you can’t take your eyes off of.” I look up at Ben when he says that. “When you find the right one, you’ll have those thousands of perfect moments with her that will make everything else feel thousands of miles away.”

I huff a little. I let my eyes wander over Ben for a moment. And I realize in that moment that the perfect woman for me isn’t a woman at all. It’s the young man standing in front of me right now that I can’t take my eyes off of. “Do you want to have dinner with me tomorrow night?” I blurt out, heart raging in my chest and Ben blinks in surprise. “I know this great little Italian place a few blocks from my apartment. Do you like Italian?”

“I do like Italian,” he says, smiling. He thinks it over. “And I’d love to.”

I smile at that.

Ben smiles shyly in return, ducking his chin, tongue flicking over his lip before he bites it.

I think we’ve both had enough pretend dates.

I think it’s about time Ben and I go on a real one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Here Comes The Sun"–The Beatles](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=xUNqsfFUwhY&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Boyfriend's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Or7KezMEXqlIarYmg9-mK)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	8. Real...?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It’s a real date, not a pretend date just for irony’s sake. Which means it might not end with just a hug or a handshake. It might develop into something more, and I’m both elated and terrified by the prospect._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy"–Queen](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=V2Yajm4fINk&feature=share)

I managed to evade any comments that evening at the gallery about suddenly having a boyfriend, but the following day I get an unexpected phone call from one Susan Graham that makes me want to crawl back under the covers and hide for all eternity. Not that I’m really that embarrassed, I just wasn’t looking forward to a lecture. But I suppose it had to come out sooner or later. After all, Sue is one of my closest friends.

How can I not tell Susan I have feelings for a guy? And even if I didn’t tell her, how would she not find out eventually? I can’t imagine a universe in which I could keep a secret like that from her for very long. Susan always has this way of figuring things out about me, sniffing out all my secrets, with or without me eventually revealing them. So she calls me up, and I can guess what this conversation will be about.

“The ex wife called,” she says, when I answer my cell.

“Wait, Helen called you?”

“Yep. So you can imagine my surprise when she calls me up–after two years of not speaking to me, by the way–just to tell me you have a boyfriend? What the hell, Mike! When did this happen?!”

I groan and flop down on the bed. “It’s kind of a long story.”

“Well, can you at least give me the abridged version?”

“Okay, you remember Ben Turner?”

“Of course I remember that adorable bundle of fluff, what about him?”

“He’s the boyfriend?”

“Oh no, did you guys do the fake boyfriend thing again?”

“Yeah.”

I go on to explain Helen randomly appearing at the gallery last night, looking to sink her claws into me, to which Susan huffs, and I tell her about being cornered by her and having Ben pretend to be my date. I tell her about Helen’s not-so-subtle comments about my disinterest when we were still married, and about Ben saving the day with his terrific ability to fake being infatuated with me.

Of course, the infatuation on my part? Not so fake.

“I asked him out,” I admit.

“On a real date, you mean?” Susan prods, to which I sigh and mumble ‘yes’. “Oh my gosh!” she gasps. “You really like him, don’t you?”

“Yeah, actually I do,” I say. “And…I think he might feel the same.”

“Awe, I’m happy for you,” she coos, but I’m still holding my breath for the comments. “And don’t worry, I won’t say anything,” she says, to my surprise, as if she was reading my mind just now. “I know this is a pretty big deal for you. I mean, you’ve never gone out with another guy before, so I know you’re probably nervous. But you know Eric’s going to be jealous, right? That you finally get curious about men and it’s not with him?”

I chuckle a little at that. “Yeah, I guess I’ll have to find a way to let him down gently.”

“Oh yes, very gently, darling. As gently as a feather on fleece. Because he’s _definitely_ going to resent you.”

When we hang up the call, I feel better and worse. Better now that Susan knows, which means someone knows and I’m not keeping this locked up inside myself, but worse because I really am nervous about this date with Ben. It’s a real date, not a pretend date just for irony’s sake. Which means it might not end with just a hug or a handshake. It might develop into something more, and I’m both elated and terrified by the prospect.

My only consolation is that this technically isn’t our first date, so there’s no need to wow him with my A+ personality. Only prove to Ben how serious, and sincere, I am about my feelings for him. My palms are sweaty as I stand in front of his apartment door, the cab that brought me patiently waiting out front, and I reach to knock with the ornate brass knocker. Ben’s crazy cat lady of a neighbor pokes her head out the opposite door, curiously.

She eyes me suspiciously, probably wondering why a man is standing at her neighbor’s door with a bouquet of roses behind his back. I shoot the woman a friendly smile and she harrumphs at me before retreating indoors, back to her twenty or so mewling cats, and Ben answers the door. “Hey,” he greets me, and it looks like he’s ready to go. The restaurant I picked is nothing too fancy, so Ben is only wearing a light blue polo and khakis.

I myself am wearing my best sweatshirt and jeans. I haven’t managed to take my dirty clothes to the laundromat yet this week, so this was all I had that’s clean and somewhat presentable. I smile and hold up the roses, and his mouth opens. “You…got me flowers?” he asks, eyes darting from me to the flowers as he slowly and carefully takes them. He smirks at me. “I thought you said you weren’t romantic.”

“I did,” I say, ever ignoring the heart beating wildly in my chest that begs to differ. “But I also mentioned I’m old fashioned. And I don’t see why flowers have to _just_ be for women. I mean, that’s a little sexist, don’t you think?”

He chuckles at me. “These are beautiful. Uhm, just let me put them in some water and we can get going. Come on in.” He waves me into his apartment, and immediately I’m met with what feels like the inner working’s of Ben’s psyche. I close the door behind me and inspect the quaint living space. Just like my own flat, Ben’s apartment is your typical messy bachelor pad, only instead of clothes piling up on the floor, Ben’s is stacked with books.

There are shelves full of them as well. Notebooks and loose leaf paper pile up on nearly every available space. It’s pretty much what I pictured Ben’s place to look like. Hectic, but warm, cozy and lived in. There’s a pile of blankets and throw pillows on the couch, which tells me either Ben doesn’t have a bed upstairs yet, or he so frequently curls up on the couch with a book and ends up falling asleep there.

I watch as Ben flits about his cramped kitchen space, finds a pair of scissors to snip the ends of the rose stems before placing them in a vase and adding some tap water from the sink. He places them in the window just above it, and turns to me. “Ready to go?” I ask and he nods. He follows me out the door and locks up the apartment behind us. Ever the gentleman, I open the cab door for him, hearing his typical snort in response to my chivalry.

The cab ride to the restaurant is nice. Ben and I talk mostly about the showing at the gallery. Eric will be keeping my photos on display all month long, and I’ve already had dozens of offers to purchase them. Most will end up as stock photos, maybe a few will hang in some dentist’s office, who’s to say, but overall, my exhibit was a complete success. Ben is very happy for me, and refuses to take any of the credit.

He also refuses to give me any hints about his new novel, and only tells me I have to wait until it’s finished. Mostly because he’s self conscious about his writing, but also because he wants it to be a surprise, he tells me. This has me bubbling over with curiosity, but as aforementioned, I can be a very patient man when it’s worth the wait. And _everything_ with Ben is always worth it.

Traffic is light, so we arrive at the little Italian place I picked out in about twenty minutes. And it’s just the kind of place that’s more our speed. It’s low-key, and it’s quiet. There are only maybe four or five guests in total when we’re seated at a table. The hostess is friendly, as are all the staff, and it’s precisely everything you would expect from a small, family owned Italian restaurant. We place our drink orders, then Ben strikes up conversation once more.

“I don’t get it,” he starts, folding his arms on the table, eyeing me incredulously.

“Get what?”

“It’s just that…well, you’re always so chivalrous, and you have all these old fashioned notions about romance, You even brought me flowers, but yet you swear you’re not even the slightest bit romantic. Because, I mean, it seems pretty evident to me that you _are_ actually.”

I sigh a little at that. “Okay… _maybe_ I am a romantic,” I relent, and he grins smugly, as if he guessed as much. “But there’s a difference between having romantic notions and actually being romantic,” I add, and he rolls his eyes at me. “A lot of women have told me I’m not very good at that sort of thing, that I don’t know the first thing about romance.” I chuckle. “I learned what little I do know through a lot of trial and error.”

“But you do know a little,” he tells me, and I shrug.

“It’s just easier if I don’t set people up with certain expectations,” I say. “If I don’t _claim_ to be a romantic, then I don’t disappoint with my inability to _be_ romantic.”

“But you _are_.”

“I am, yes,” I sigh in defeat.

“And yet you don’t believe in fate?” Ben asks, as if he can hardly believe it.

I chew my little a little in nervousness. “I didn’t used to,” I say. “I mean, after what happened with Helen, I sort of gave up on the idea. But…” I take a deep breath. “Maybe–just maybe, mind you–I might still believe that the right person for me is out there.” And sitting right across from me at a table with a red and white checkered tablecloth, plucking a buttery garlic bread stick from the basket set between us. “It just wasn’t Helen.”

“Obviously,” he remarks, after swallowing his bite. “I’m starting to wonder what you ever saw in that woman.”

“The same thing you saw in Steve, I imagine.”

“Touche.”

“I just, I find it hard to believe people could be destined for one another,” I then admit, which makes Ben arch a curious brow. “Or believe in the whole destiny thing entirely. However,” I pluck a bread stick form the basket, “I do believe that every once in a while, people are lucky enough to meet someone that makes them very happy, and that once they do, they shouldn’t squander that opportunity.”

“Hmm, I think you might be onto something there, Mr. Lance,” Ben agrees, and I smile.

We talk for what feels like hours as we eat dinner. Same as always, but it feels a little different tonight, and maybe it’s the atmosphere. Maybe it’s the wine, candles and bread sticks. Maybe the pasta and the music playing over head. Maybe it’s the light in Ben’s eyes when he laughs at a joke. The warm sensation washing over me when those blue eyes stare back at mine. I don’t know what it is, only that I don’t want this night to end.

Because it’s absolutely _perfect_. Ben is forgiving of my faults, even humors my poor attempts at romancing him, and shares his pasta with me. Front start to finish it’s incredible, the whole evening, dare I say it, is enchanting. When we’re finally ready to leave, I ask, “So should I call us a cab?” As we’re stepping outside and Ben shoves his hands in his pockets. He shrugs a little at my question.

“How about we walk?” he suggests. “It’s a nice night. And it’s more _romantic_ ,” he cajoles at me, making me huff goodnaturedly at the jab.

“Okay,” I nod, and we start down the sidewalk. But something is still missing, and so I reach for Ben’s hand, lacing his fingers in mine. It’s an innocent gesture, but it speaks volumes. Ben blushes as he’s smiling, biting his lip and I feel him squeeze my hand. We’re quiet for some time, just enjoying the night, the city around us, and we stop by the park, then take a stroll through it, the path lit up like the day with electric lanterns.

Ben’s hand is so warm in mine and my heart races. I’ve made every attempt to make certain this night was absolutely perfect for him, in spite of my gaping flaws in the romance department, and I think this might be it. This might be the perfect time to have our first kiss. I want to take things slowly with Ben. I don’t want to give him the idea that I’m just using him for sex, or that I don’t care for him, but I want him to know I’m serious about him.

Matter of fact, I’ve never been this serious about _anyone_ I’ve dated. We gradually slow to a stop under one of the lamps and I turn to Ben, grabbing his other hand, entwining it with mine. He smiles up at me. “Thank you,” he tells me, with all sincerity. “I know it wasn’t a real date or anything, but tonight was absolutely wonderful. You’re turning out to be the best fake boyfriend I’ve ever had. Of course, you’re the _only_ one I’ve had, but still…”

And _that’s_ when it hits me.

I guess with all of the play acting we’ve been doing, pretending to be dating, Ben assumed this was just another fake date. That I just want to be friends. Part of me is hurt, that he never took my invitation to dinner as anything serious in the first place, and then part of me is apprehensive. It would be so easy to convince him otherwise, to pull him into my arms, press my lips to his, and he would know in that moment I’m _not_ pretending.

But for some reason, I _don’t_.

I can’t make myself move. For some reason I’m rooted to the spot, and I don’t know if it’s just second guessing, or fear, but I can’t muster the will to make my move. Only stare blankly at him for a second, before responding with, “I’m glad you had a good time.” Like a complete idiot. “I mean, what are fake boyfriends for, am I right?” I joke, forcing a smile, and he snickers at me. What am I doing?! Why haven’t I kissed him yet?!

My heart is pounding in my ears, and my mind is racing. But my window’s already closing, so I might as well let it fall. “I just…I know you like this sort of thing, and even if it could never, you know, be _more_ , I wanted you to be able to at least have these kinds of things with someone,” I ramble, and the more I talk, the more I see that light in Ben’s eyes starting to dim. I realize a little too late it’s from disappointment.

Maybe because a part of Ben was hoping it could be real.

But the part of me that’s terrified of ruining this somehow shuts down the notion completely with, “But I’m sure one day you’ll find someone who _can_ give you all this, and love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

“You really think so?” he asks, ever so quietly, like he’s afraid to believe it, wouldn’t dare to hope for it, after everything he’s been through with Steve.

And I want so badly to be that man, but I don’t want to be another Steve Porter.

“I do,” I say, and smile at him, hoping it sounded sincere. It is, I really do hope Ben finds someone that will make him happy, that will love and support him, and be everything he ever wanted in a guy, I’m just still so worried it won’t be me. I realize that all my hesitance is stemming from that fear, of Ben rejecting me, or breaking my heart, and I inhale deeply through my nose, glancing around. “Come on, I’ll walk you home,” I say, and Ben nods.

When we reach his building, Ben turns to me and plants a kiss on my cheek when he says goodnight.

Part of me wishes he hadn’t.

Because it only makes it harder to turn and walk away.

But I do.

I force my feet to move, inwardly cursing myself for my stupidity.

And fight the urge to run back, all the long walk home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *the audience collectively groans*
> 
> Theme: ["Here Comes The Sun"–The Beatles](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=xUNqsfFUwhY&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Boyfriend's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Or7KezMEXqlIarYmg9-mK)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	9. Anxious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A man can only take so much before he’s caving. And with Ben, it really doesn’t take much. Not even a little. Next to nothing at all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Help!"–The Beatles](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=N4KvafPbauw&feature=share)

I don’t sleep that night. I toss and turn in my bed, a restless ball of energy in my boxer briefs. I know that most of my anxiety stems from my failed marriage and my inability to connect with people on basic fundamental levels. I realize that my fear is what’s holding me back from being in a happy fulfilling relationship, and not because of any hesitance toward sexual acts with another man. I’m definitely not homophobic either.

But it’s that fear of rejection because I’ve been burned before that gives me pause, that I’ve been slowly coming to terms with.

Things ended badly with Helen. We signed a prenuptial agreement, and because of the circumstances that lead to our separation, I wasn’t stuck with alimony, but Helen and I never reached any sort of closure. She packed her suitcase and left while I was away on a business trip, and the only civil conversations we managed to have after that were through our legal teams during mediation in divorce court.

We put our condo up for sale, divvied any assets and split. I was left with a broken heart and a bottle of Jack Daniels as my only company. I had a few friends like Susan and Eric that managed to pull me out of my depressive funk and back into some semblance of normalcy, but I never could get over how Helen betrayed me in the end. If not for my passion for photography, and my friends to keep me sane, I don’t think I would’ve recovered.

I often think back on that downward spiral, and usually that’s what filters out any thought of having a serious relationship with a woman. Not anything more than a one night stand. That fear of being crushed, yet again, and the persisting thought that maybe next time, I won’t be strong enough to bounce back. That I’ll just keep falling, and every woman I’ve dated turned out to be a dud anyway.

It never felt right, which only further convinced me I was better off alone. Not that I actually _want_ to be alone. It’s just easier and far more tolerable than the daunting prospect of anything more complex. It’s not as if I chase people away either. It’s just that they don’t engage me for very long, and my interest in them quickly dies. Which was why I lost that hope of ever finding ‘the one’, or believing my soulmate is out there somewhere.

But now I have this wonderful person in my sights, who’s funny and witty, warm, compassionate and kind, genuine, and so full of love, and I can’t get past my own doubts in order to pursue him. I’ve failed at every turn, and my only consolation is that at least I now have the opportunity to treasure what we already have, which is a wonderful friendship that may even last a lifetime. But even as I think that, I don’t fully believe myself.

I think to myself that maybe I’m just trying to avoid the real issue here. That I love Ben so wholly and completely, but I’m afraid he’ll never love me back. Sure, we can spend time together, hang out at the park, stay up late and binge watch Jerry Lewis movies. Go bowling or to the beach with our group of friends. We can talk to each other all night long, send each other goofy texts throughout the day, but…we would never bridge that connection.

It would never be what I want it to be. Because the second Ben realizes I’m not the one he wants, and that person is someone else, I don’t think I could watch him move on and be happy without me. I don’t think I could be happy being the third wheel every time Ben and I hang out together. I don’t want to lose Ben completely now that I have him, but I don’t want to have to watch from the sidelines as he walks down the idle with the man of his dreams…

And that man not being me.

It’s selfish for me to feel this way, and I tell myself it’s for the best that Ben believed our date was just pretend, but I know I’m only kidding myself. I don’t know what to tell Susan about it though. When she asks how our date went, all I can say is, “It was great,” And hope to leave it at that. But Susan knows me too well, instantly recognizes when I'm hiding something, and I hear her sigh.

“Mikey, what’s wrong?” she asks, using that same tone of voice my mother uses, and suddenly I feel like I’m four, and I’m _this_ close to sticking out my bottom lip in a pout.

“He thought it was fake,” I admit.

“What?”

“Yeah. He thought it was just another pretend date, you know, that I wasn’t serious about asking him out. That It was just for fun, just goofing around.”

“Well, did you tell him you’re serious about him?”

This time I really do pout. “No,” I mumble. Then I tell her what happened, how I _almost_ kissed him, but didn’t.

“Oh Mikey,” Susan groans.

“I know. I just... After what happened with Helen, I don’t know if I can handle being hurt again. Maybe it’s just best to just be friends.”

“Mikey, if you care about him as much as I think you do, you’re not going to be able to handle _just_ being friends with him.”

Susan makes a good point.

But I throw myself into my work, because it’s really the only thing I have that doesn’t fill me with doubt, or complicate things for me. I decide not to go on any more ‘pretend dates’ with Ben. He calls me and asks me how I’m doing, to which I reply with, “I’m doing great,” And I force myself to pretend everything is fine, but I’m not so sure about that. Ben sounds a little tense on the phone as well. As if I’m not the only one pretending anymore.

I don’t want to entertain the possibility of Ben developing feelings for me, because it only serves to drive the blade in deeper, and amplifies my already existing pang of regret that I didn’t pull him into my arms when I had the chance. But while Ben always has this nervous, excitable timbre when he speaks, it’s just a bit more nervous and excitable than usual for him. I don’t know whether to be worried or comforted by that fact.

I may just be reading the situation entirely wrong, and things may not be what they seem. But there’s a small part of me that hopes this isn’t just some unrequited sentiment that will never be returned. Ben invites me to the movies, and I say yes, but only because Jenna is tagging along for the excursion, so technically it’s not a date, or even a double date, if it’s the three of us. But I don’t think Jenna is the third wheel this time around.

I think Ben’s the one that’s tagging along, because I think Jenna’s still interested in me, and I’m torn between letting her down gently and just taking the dive and pursuing her, if even to just get Ben out of my head. Maybe Ben did it on purpose, because he can’t possibly tolerate another evening alone with me, like he can’t trust himself to keep his hands off me. Or is that simply more wishful thinking on my part?

But we share a cab to the theater, and everything is relatively okay at first, at least until we get our popcorn and go to take our seats. I didn’t see the seating arrangements to be an issue until now–it hadn’t even crossed my mind–but I almost have a panic attack when we file up the steps to a good row and shuffle down the isle. Ben goes first, and I follow, Jenna right behind me, so I end up sandwiched between the two in our row.

I now have Ben to the left, and Jenna to my right, and I feel cornered. If I lean back and rest an arm behind one seat, it’s Ben’s, but if I lift my other arm, it’s around Jenna. So I have little choice but to cross my arms and bunch myself up in the seat, a respectable distance from both. The lights dim and the movie starts. In the dark I feel less self-conscious, but still very self-aware of my current predicament. I can only hope neither wish to share an armrest.

Jenna was the one to choose tonight’s entertainment, so we’re watching a thriller. I didn’t expect Jenna to like those sorts of films, which tells me she chose this movie in hopes that she could flinch into my shoulder and I would wrap my arm around her protectively. Men do that sometimes too. It’s a classic move, take your date to see a horror flick so you can comfort her during the scary parts. I did that back in college.

Horror films are a lot more graphic than I remember them being in college, and about twenty minutes in I feel someone jump, upsetting their popcorn, but it’s not Jenna. Ben jumps in his seat when something scary pops out of nowhere, and he buries his face in my arm. Without even thinking, I reach to put my arm around him and whisper, “Are you okay?” As quietly as possible so I don’t disturb others watching the movie.

“I _hate_ slasher films,” he hisses in my ear.

That breathless voice right in my ear inadvertently makes me hard, despite the fact that my eyes are glued to the huge screen currently displaying something utterly horrendous, and soon I’m shifting uncomfortably in my seat, trying to resist the urge to reach down and adjust, which would make it obvious to Ben, and Jenna if she glances over. I turn to him and whisper, “Do you want to leave?” I feel him shake his head.

“No,” he says, burying his face in my shoulder. “We already paid for the tickets and popcorn, we can’t just leave.”

“We’ve only been here for twenty minutes. I’m sure they’ll give us a refund.”

“But we can’t just leave Jenna. And she’s been dying to see this movie.”

Someone _really_ needs to start saying no to Jenna.

I glance over at the strawberry blonde in question, happy and content, eyes glazed over as she’s absorbed in the movie, buttery popcorn halfway to her face. I roll my eyes. Maybe I really need to start saying no to Ben. I have absolutely no will power, whatsoever, and haplessly indulge him, allowing him to hide his face in my neck whenever the movie becomes obscenely graphic, breathing slowly in through my nose and out my mouth.

My hard on won’t go away, and it really needs to. The last thing I need is to explain precisely _why_ I have a hard on watching a horror flick. I’m not young enough to simply blame it on my ‘uncontrollable hormones’, which would be a delight. But I’m not that fortunate. Instead, I’m smashed against a warm body that smells like coconut–which I _love_ , by the way–mildly of soap, aftershave, and very faintly of mint toothpaste and popcorn, unforgivably hard.

In short, I’m simultaneously miserable, and elated, with my arm around Ben, in the shadows of the theatre, and the only thing I can do is a breathing exercise to keep myself even remotely calm. But slowly becoming more and more unhinged each time Ben sucks in a breath, then turns his head to curl deeper into me. I try to keep focused on the movie, which is in no way stimulating, to at least keep from giving in to the urge to make out with Ben.

His hair is so soft, and he’s so warm…and I’m driving myself insane just thinking about it.

My mind keeps absently wandering to the image of Ben and myself in a darkly lit room, alone, just the two of us. My bedroom, to be exact. With maybe only the street lights filtering in through the window, illuminating the space just enough to see the outline of his shape beneath me. I don’t realize at first that as I’m holding him, I’ve been rubbing Ben’s back and shoulder affectionately, until I hear him sigh happily.

Perhaps he simply interprets the gesture as one of comfort, but that’s _not_ what I’ve been doing. At least not entirely. Not when I notice my fingers tracing his arm and shoulder, making slow circles in the soft material of his cotton shirt. I’m a wreck by the time the credits roll, and I clear my throat, removing my arm from around Ben and shifting again as the lights go up. I don’t dare move the bag of popcorn resting in my lap.

“So what did you guys think of the movie?” Jenna asks excitedly, and it’s the sound of her voice that effectively kills the mood, and I start to soften. At some point, I forgot Jenna even existed, until she asked that question. I glance at Ben. He’s bleary eyed, blinking in the light before rubbing his eyes. Apparently my soothing ministrations made him somewhat sleepy and he yawns.

“It was great,” he says as he’s yawning, and he stretches.

Jenna doesn’t look convinced.

“Oh yeah,” I chirp. “Great movie.”

Jenna may not, but I know Ben detects my sarcasm. He makes a quiet, almost inaudible scoff beside me as we stand up to file out of the theater. But Jenna is all smiles and talks animatedly about the film as we make our exit. I’m just grateful it’s over. But part of me doesn’t want it to be. Part of me wants to rewind back to that moment with my arm around Ben when he blissfully sighs at my touch.

Jenna lives on the other side of the city, so she calls for an Uber driver to pick her up while Ben and I call a cab. I don’t like Uber. There’s just something about the concept that’s off-putting to me. I don’t know why, but it creeps me out. I realize it’s not that different from a cab, and is generally more convenient in terms of availability and price, but I’d rather put up with an annoying cab driver than an annoying Uber driver, to be honest.

When the driver picks up Jenna and as we wave goodbye to the parting Ford Focus pulling away, Ben leans closer and says, “I _really_ need to stop saying yes to Jenna.”

I chuckle at that. “This does seem to be a reoccurring theme with you,” I comment.

He lamely nods.

Then he stares up at me, eyes darting to my mouth, biting his lip before looking away and clearing his throat in the silence, and I realize something.

I think Ben wanted to kiss me just now.

I’m so tempted.

He sighs. “Thank you for coming,” he tells me. “I had good time. Maybe next time we’ll watch something a little less… ‘exhilarating’ though.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Dammit. I basically just said, ‘Yeah, sure, let’s go see another movie together sometime.’ Like I said, absolutely no willpower.

Well, I’m only human, aren’t I?

A man can only take so much before he’s caving. And with Ben, it really doesn’t take much. Not even a little. Next to nothing at all.

I very soon learn this lesson yet again, days later, when Ben calls me up one afternoon and says, “So, Katherine’s wedding is this Saturday.”

I check the date on my phone. “Why, yes it is,” I chirp.

“Well, I was wondering…”

 _Oh no,_ I inwardly sigh. I know that tone of voice.

“Yes?”

“Would you maybe want to be my date?”

“Your date? As in… the two of us go together to your sister’s wedding?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, it’s not like you actually have to _be_ my date or anything, I just meant if you wanted to be my plus one? You don’t have to pretend to be my boyfriend or something, I just figured we can go as friends, you know? Just…together. Jenna’s already got plans she can’t get around, and my sister’s been dying to meet you anyway, so… would you maybe want to go? Or can you? I understand if you’re working, or have other plans.”

And I, Michael Lance, have absolutely no willpower when it comes to Ben Turner.

“I’d love to go.”

I can practically hear his smile. I can picture it too, as he floods me with details. The resort is only a couple of hours from the city, we can drive up on Friday, stay for the wedding on Saturday, stay again Saturday night and leave Sunday. We’ll rent a car for the weekend. I offer to pay, but Ben insists on splitting the cost. Obviously I can’t say no to Ben, so I allow the compromise. Lodging is already handled, and we each own a tux.

We go over all the details before we hang up, but later that day I finally get the call from Eric I’ve been expecting.

“You’re gay?!” he shrieks when I pick up the phone and I wince at the high pitched shrill of his voice.

“Did Susan call?”

“You told Susan first?!”

“Uhm...”

“Traitor.”

I throw my hands up at that. “How can I possibly be a traitor?! You’re _both_ my friends!”

“Because I’ve known you the longest, and that gives me certain rights and privileges in this friendship, like being the first to know that you think you might be gay! Maybe also being the best man at your wedding, but that’s neither here nor there.”

I sigh at that. “Technically bisexual,” I say, correcting his initial assumption. “Okay, maybe more like bi-curious at this stage. I mean we haven’t actually… you know…”

“Oooh,” he draws and absently I nod at that, clicking my teeth. “You haven’t actually had sex.”

“Exactly. And I’m nervous,” I admit.

“Awe, a little anxious, are we?”

“A bit, yes. I mean, is that normal? To be nervous about… you know.”

“Oh totally,” Eric assures me. “Every guy goes through that. The whole ‘Is this really what I want’ stage. Especially a guy at your age.”

“What do you mean ‘at my age’?” I huff. I hear him snort.

“I just meant  _older_ , Michael. As in not a hormonal teenager anymore? No one’s calling you a geezer, you big baby.”

“Hmph,” I huff regardless. “So it’s normal?”

“Yes, it’s perfectly normal. So how did all this happen, exactly?”

I sigh, then start from the beginning, telling Eric everything that happened between us. I expect him to take that same tone with me as Susan. But he doesn’t. Instead he gets a little wistful and says, “Awe. That has to be the most charming thing I’ve ever heard. I could sense a little thing between you two at the opening. I mean really, that’s just so sweet. And I totally get why you’re hesitant. I can’t imagine it’s any easier after what happened with Helen either. I can see why you’re reluctant to take the next the step.”

Okay, admittedly, I feel a lot better after hearing all this. “It’s just that I care a lot about Ben, and I want this to work out.”

“Oh so you’re serious about him?”

“Yeah, and I don’t want to hurt him.”

“Well, I suppose the only thing you can do is be honest with him and hope for the best. That’s all any of us can do. Just communicate. If Ben truly cares about you, he’ll completely understand.”

“Okay, honesty, check,” I quip. Eric chuckles at me.

When we hang up, I feel loads lighter, like I haven’t felt in days.

I can do this.

I can face this fear.

I can tell Ben how I feel about him.

I just have to survive his family first.

And if I can do that, then maybe Ben and I really are meant for each other.

I don’t know how well I’ll fair in all this, but I know one thing for certain:

I am totally, completely, undoubtedly, one hundred percent hopelessly in love with him, and I would do anything to make him happy.

So if Ben wants me to be his plus one at his sister’s wedding?

Well, then I will be the best damned plus one in the history of plus ones, and worry about semantics at a later date.

And Katherine Turner, soon to be Mrs. Brian Stevens, will have the happiest little brother on the face of this earth, even if it kills me.

And it just might.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Here Comes The Sun"–The Beatles](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=xUNqsfFUwhY&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Boyfriend's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Or7KezMEXqlIarYmg9-mK)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	10. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Despite all of Ben’s reassurances, my heart still pounds when we pull up in front of the building, and I see a group of people standing outside waiting. It’s obvious that it’s Ben’s family._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["New Kid In Town"–Eagles](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=-Pa5nqYXEnY&feature=share)

I wake up on Friday morning in a cold sweat.

Another dream about Ben.

Yes, I said another.

I’ve been having them quite often as of late, and I’m rather surprised by the vivid detail of them. I haven’t had dreams this vivid in years. Nor have I had dreams this sexual. And that’s what they are; lust filled fantasies of Ben and myself that leave me hard and aching. This most recent dream was so tantalizing I thought I might die. Nevertheless, I pull myself together, pry myself out of bed and start my morning routine. Ben texts me and asks if I’m awake, to which I reply with a coffee cup emoji.

He texts me back with ‘Same’ and I double check that everything’s packed and ready for this weekend. Surprisingly, Ben is not the more spontaneous one between the two of us for a change. Me, I’m fine if I have my toothbrush, comb and clean underwear. But Ben, on the other hand, has a checklist, and is very organized. It’s mostly because he knows how scatterbrained he gets where long trips are concerned, and doesn’t want to end up leaving his socks behind by accident.

It’s only two days, but Ben is packing like we’re vacationing abroad, which tells me he’s nervous about this weekend.

Emails me a copy of the checklist, texts me throughout breakfast and packing with things like, ‘Okay did you remember to bring swim trunks in case you want to go swimming? Because you remember the resort has a pool. Oh and sunscreen too.’ I can’t help but laugh. It’s like _constant_. Rapid fired texts, one after the other of remembering things like toothpaste, shaving cream, asking if I want to stop for lunch on the way, or just eat when we get there. It’s a two hour drive both ways.

He sends me another text before I’ve even replied to the previous, so finally I delete everything I just typed and put, ‘Relax, Ben. Everything’s going to be fine.’

‘I know, I’m sorry. I just really want everything to go smoothly.’

‘You have nothing to worry about.’

‘I know.’

I think about it for a moment, then send, ‘Think of how I feel. I’m meeting your family for the first time.’

He takes about five minutes to respond. He’s making toast. But then I get, ‘Don’t even worry about that. My family’s going to love you.’

It’s strange, because I feel like I _am_ his boyfriend, about to be introduced to the future in-laws. I guess it’s just because I’ve gotten so used to pretending to be his boyfriend that some of that anxiety sort of stuck. But he’s right, I shouldn’t even be worried. Ben told his family about me, mentioned that I would be his plus one, and they’re looking forward to meeting me. The best part? We’re just going as friends, so no worry about making things awkward by pretending to be in a relationship.

I wouldn’t mind if we _did_ though.

I’ve come to that realization long before now, that I’m not just pretending anymore.

So I go to pick up the rental, then swing by to pick up Ben, and help him load his luggage into the trunk, and hang his dry cleaning in the backseat of the car next to mine. He still looks slightly worried, but slightly tired still too, clinging to his purple travel mug like lifeline as he climbs into the passenger’s seat. It’s adorable, really. I get us out of the city and onto the interstate, but I’m following Ben’s direction completely after that, because I have no idea where I’m going.

He messes around with the radio for a while, trying to find a station he likes. The presets programmed in the stereo are mostly pop stations, playing music neither one of us really go for, and he flips through before finally switching to aux, and plugging in his phone. “You like the Beatles?” he asks me, and I chuckle.

“Do I like the Beatles?” I laugh. “Who _doesn’t_ like the Beatles?”

“I know right? It’s really hard to hate the Beatles.”

“There’s something wrong with people that hate the Beatles.”

Ben hums for a moment, scrolling through Spotify. “Steve doesn’t like the Beatles.”

“Neither does Helen.”

“That should’ve been our first clue.”

I snort a little at that.

‘Here Comes The Sun’ starts playing, and a smile spreads across my face.

I catch Ben in my peripheral vision, smiling and singing along with the song, just as the sun hits him, shining in his hair.

It’s like something out of a novel for a moment, and part of me wants to reach for his hand, cling to it, and never let go.

But the two hour drive out of the city and to the resort his parent’s booked for Katherine’s wedding goes by almost inhumanly fast. Partly listening to music to pass the time, or listening to Ben tell me more stories about growing up. He used to be a lot closer to Katherine than he is now. The two were almost inseparable, like twins conjoined at the hip, until he left for college. Since I’m an only child, I can’t really relate to the whole sibling thing, much less understand, but I sort of get it.

The resort is much like a country club. But it’s family owned and accessible by anyone, no membership required. It takes about ten minutes to drive up the single lane drive to the main building where we’ll be staying. It’s absolutely beautiful, with tall paneled glass windows and an incredible view of the the most beautiful countryside. Katherine hired another photographer to shoot the ceremony, but I still brought my camera just in case, and hope at some point I’ll have an opportunity to use it.

I know Ben has his tablet as well, in case inspiration strikes and he has a spare moment to write more of his novel. Despite all of Ben’s reassurances, my heart still pounds when we pull up in front of the building, and I see a group of people standing outside waiting. It’s obvious that it’s Ben’s family. There’s an older couple that I assume are Mr. and Mrs. Turner, and I see the resemblance. Ben takes after his mother, who looks incredible for her age.

Her blonde hair is mostly gray, but she has those same sparkling blue eyes that light up when she smiles, as Ben and I step out of the car. Next to her is John Turner, who is everything I expected him to be, standing there in a white button down and khakis, hands in his pockets, features pinched, like he’s trying to remain calm and civil in front of everyone. He appraises me judgmentally, scrutinizing my appearance as we walk up the cobblestone path. Then his eyes flit to his son, who falters.

But Katherine is all smiles and could be Ben’s twin if they were the same age, carrying a squealing just-turned-six-year-old in her arms with slightly dirtier blonde hair than her own. “Benji!” she exclaims happily, and Ben grimaces a little at the nickname. “Benji?” I murmur next to him as she approaches, fighting a smile, and he grunts, then murmurs, “Don’t you even say a word, you have no room to talk, _Mikey_ ,” he clips, and I can’t help but snort.

I guess I’m not the only one traumatized by pet names. I wait patiently to be introduced and smile when Katherine engulfs him in a hug and little Anna next, cackling when he tickles her. Standing off to the side at a polite distance is the groom-to-be, Brian, who looks just as lost as I am, but maybe it’s because like me he’s sort of an interloper. But he greets us both with a nice, open friendly smile. “Michael, this my sister Katherine, my neice, Anna, this Brian, Mom, Dad. Everyone, this is my friend Michael.”

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” says Mrs. Turner. Next to her, Mr. Turner only nods.

“Dad,” Ben greets, a little stiffly.

“Ben,” his father greets, just as stiffly, with another nod.

There’s an awkward pause of silence that stretches before Mrs. Turner claps her hands together and chirps, “Well then, how about we get you guys settled and then get something to eat, sound good?”

“You go ahead,” I tell Ben. “I’ll get the bags and get them up to our rooms.”

“I’ll help you,” Brian offers, and I thank him. “I’ve got the room keys. I’ll show you the way.”

I watch for a moment as Ben heads inside with the rest of his family, before turning and heading back to the car to unload our baggage in the trunk. So far Brian seems nice. Polite, friendly, even helpful. Not bad looking either. I don’t feel any sort of attraction to him like I do Ben, but I can see why Katherine wants to marry him. Very clean cut guy, dark hair, chiseled features. Obviously Ben and his sister have similar tastes in men. He helps me pull the suitcases out, saying, “So, you’re the new boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” I say, confused by the statement, and he blanches.

“Oh, so you’re… not together?” He chuckles nervously. “I kind of just assumed ‘friend’ was just code for something? You know that maybe you were holding off until after the wedding to make the announcement? But you’re really just friends?”

Unfortunately, yes. “Yeah,” I nod a little, closing the trunk. “Just friends.”

“Oh, okay then. Sorry, I mean, it’s just surprising. The way Ben talks about you all the time to Kat, I just assumed…”

I force a smile. “Nope. Nothing between us. I’m not his date. Just here as a friend.” His comment of Ben talking about me all the time to his sister has me curious though.

“So you’re a photographer, he said?” I nod a little. We lug the suitcases down the path and into the building. “You aren’t really what I pictured. Kind of figured a guy like you would be more like Steve, you know? Somebody with his head up his ass? But you seem alright though.” I snort a little at that.

“Not a big fan of Steve, I’m guessing?”

Brian shakes his head. “We went to school together. Doesn’t surprise me in the slightest that he became an actor. He was always so in love with himself even back then. Had to have all the attention. I can’t tell you how happy I was when he and Ben finally broke up.” As I hear him talk, I like Brian even more. Not only does he win points for despising Steve, but he seems to not mind at all that his soon-to-be brother-in-law prefers the company of other men. Doesn’t even phase him at all.

“So how did you and Katherine meet?” I ask, conversationally, as we head to the elevator. Brian taps the button for the second floor. The stairs wouldn’t be so bad, but not with all of Ben’s suitcases. “Did you go to school together as well?” He nods, smiling. “But not highschool sweethearts though, I’m guessing? I mean, since she was married before?”

“Yeah, Kat and Rob were the sweethearts,” he admits. “He and I were friends too. Best of friends, actually.” He says this with a tinge of bitterness, but I can’t quite place the source of it, until he elaborates. “I won’t lie, I was always kind of jealous of them. It hurt to watch her so happy with someone else. Especially when that someone else treated her like dirt.” I nod a little, because in a way, I kind of relate, at least to watching the one I love being happy without me.

“When they got divorced, it was tough taking care of Anna all by herself, and she really needed a friend, and ironically, I became that friend. Rob, he just…he never wanted to be a father. He never wanted a family. I just kind of ended up filling in the gaps. Being there for both of them while he was busy pulling his head out of his ass. And we just…connected, I guess. On a level we didn’t with any of our previous relationships.”

“Which eventually lead to dating?”

He smiles a little. “Yeah. I mean it just…it worked, you know? Kat and I always had a thing, we just never acted on it. Kind of hard when we’re dating other people, but…” We arrive at mine and Ben’s respective rooms, right across from one another. Brian pulls the room keys from his pocket. “I’m really sorry, this is probably way too much information for just meeting you. You’re just really easy to talk to. I can see why you and Ben get along.”

“It’s no problem,” I say. And I mean that. Normally, somebody like Brian would probably irritate me–I normally don’t appreciate over sharing of personal information with someone I only just met–but I like Brian, and I see that he fits right in with the rest of the Turner clan. Warm, open and friendly, just like Ben, their mother, and Katherine. Not sure how to feel about Mr. Turner yet though. “Thanks for the help with the luggage,” I add, and he smiles.

“No problem. You get settled in and I’ll see you downstairs, yeah?”

“Sounds good.”

I store the luggage at the foot of our beds, flop down on mine and sigh. Some of my initial anxiety has eased off, but not all of it. There are still plenty of things to be apprehensive about. But I’m here. And there’s no turning back now.

Time to see what the rest of the weekend has in store for me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Here Comes The Sun"–The Beatles](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=xUNqsfFUwhY&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Boyfriend's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Or7KezMEXqlIarYmg9-mK)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	11. Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“So, tell us, Ben, darling, how did you and Michael meet?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["You've Got To Hide Your Love Away"–The Beatles](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=V8nLraecPRY&feature=share)

I save the unpacking for later this evening and head down to the dining hall.

Now that I’ve gotten the luggage to our rooms, and I don’t have Brian to distract me, I can actually appreciate the place from an artistic standpoint. The rooms are more like hotel suites, with their own bathroom facilities, microwaves, mini fridge, and flatscreen tvs, almost like a miniature home away from home, but the rest of the lodge has an old country cottage feel. Like something out of a story book, complete with laced curtains and wicker furniture in the sitting areas.

But the dining hall is full service, like a restaurant, with menus, and the Turner family already gathered at a big table in the corner, an empty seat right next to Ben’s, waiting for me. Brian’s parents are already there as well. In fact, most of the dining hall is filled with friends and immediate family members of the bride and groom. But my only concern is the group of people at the largest table. Ben smiles and waves me over when he spots me near the entrance.

“Oh, Michael!” Brian chirps, smiling, when I slide into the chair between him and Ben. If I didn’t know any better, I would say Brian likes me a little. “These are my parents, Roger and Diana. Mom, Dad, this is Michael…uh…?”

“Lance,” I introduce with a smile. “Michael Lance. I’m a friend of Ben’s.”

Normally I would be holding my breath for the sharp inhale of realization when someone recognizes me, but instead I’m only met with polite smiles and a “Nice to meet you, Michael,” from Mr. and Mrs. Stevens. It’s a breath of fresh air to be around complete and total strangers that have no idea who I am, and I let down my guard just a little, opening a menu, momentarily distracting myself with that while everyone around me talks. Next to me, Ben fidgets nervously still.

I have a feeling his father is every bit the source of the tension. Ben seems to like Brian just fine, has only ever had good things to say about the man, and is polite to his parents as well, so that can’t be it. But across from us, John Turner sits with a cup of coffee poised above his lips, set in a grim line. “So, tell us, Ben, darling, how did you and Michael meet?” Mrs. Stevens asks, quite curious, and Ben opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He shoots me a wary glance.

“Well, it’s actually a funny story, really,” he says. “Uh, you tell it, Michael.”

“Me? Uh,” I rub the back of my neck. The whole table stares back at me, waiting to hear. This is going to raise a few brows, I’m sure. “Well, I suppose it is a bit comical, looking back on it. Wasn’t that funny at the time, just sort of terrifying, but… We met at a charity event, actually. I was taking pictures of the event as a favor for a friend of mine.”

“Oh how nice,” Mrs. Turner smiles.

“It was very nice, yes. Black tie event. So there I am, with my Nikon and my press pass, when I see Ben approaching me.”

“Oh but wait til you hear why,” Ben grouses, lifting his water glass.

“Yeah, uh, Ben sort of crashed the party,” I chuckle.

“What?” Katherine gapes.

“Steve was there,” Ben chips in. She rolls her eyes.

“Oh no,” she sighs, like she knows exactly where this was going.

“So he sees his ex with some new guy,” I say, before taking a drink. “Doesn’t want to make it seem like he’s still single and desperate and pining for him, so when he spots me…” I shoot Ben a smirk. He blushes a little in embarrassment.

“I asked him to pretend to be my boyfriend,” he admits.

That earns us a round of amused snickering.

“Asked?” I laugh. “No, that would imply I actually had a choice. He walks right up to me, takes my camera, and next thing I know, I’m his boyfriend for the next thirty-five minutes.”

Brian snorts a little in amusement into his cup, hiding a smile.

“Yeah it was bad,” Ben chuckles.

“And I have no idea who this kid is, or who these people are, having to fake my way through a relationship for the next half hour.”

“Oh but he was really convincing though. Steve was green with envy when he found out Michael used to work for Vogue.”

“You used to work for Vogue?” Katherine gasps, as does her mother and soon-to-be mother-in-law next to her.

And here it comes, I think to myself.

“Oh. My. Gosh,” Katherine claps a hand over her mouth. “Now I know why you look so familiar! You’re  _that_ guy! Mom, you remember? The guy that caught his model wife cheating on him in Tahiti, took pictures of it, then sold them to People Magazine!”

“That was you?” Brian mumbles beside me. I grimace and nod a little.

“Yeah, that was me.”

“You’ve got some guts,” he commends, clinking his water glass with mine.

Meanwhile Ben is speechless, gaping at me. He knew about Helen cheating, but I never told him I had proof, or that I sent it to another magazine to become their front page issue.

“It was a huge scandal for months afterwards!” Katherine says. “Helen Banks, that was her name, right? I heard she was fired from Vogue before she even got back to the States.”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration, but yes, Vogue decided to let her go after that mess.”

“So is that why you no longer work for Vogue, Mr. Lance?” Mr. Turner finally pipes up, adding to the conversation. He doesn’t look too impressed, with either my previous career, or my fit of vengeful pique. In fact, he just doesn’t seem impressed by me at all. It makes sense really. Hard for a middle class working man like John Turner to take a guy like me seriously, considering what I do for a living. I get paid to take pictures. I highly doubt he finds much to merit in my profession.

He doesn’t suspect there’s something between me and Ben, does he? Brian guessed as much. Does he think we’re hiding something too?

Is that the reason behind all the glaring?

This is going to be awkward, isn’t it?

“No, they offered me a promotion, actually,” I say, to their surprise. “Apparently Vogue hadn’t sold that many issues in one month since Princess Diana.” Ben snorts a little at that. I sigh next to him. “No, I uh... I gave them my notice. Found something else. Something more my speed. Working for Vogue was all about supporting my lifestyle, but it just wasn’t what I wanted out of life. And after Helen and I got divorced, I started rethinking a lot of my decisions, and that was one of those decisions.”

“So was that before, or after Time Magazine?” Katherine asks.

“After,” I say.

“You worked for Time?” Mr. Turner inquires, curious, and I think _that_ is something he might be genuinely interested to hear about. I’m surprised. I nod a little, then talk about my career with Time Magazine for a little while, answering Mr. Turner’s questions, skating away from the subject of Vogue and the drama of my previous marriage. I can only wonder what these people think of me, but I guess I’m not leaving too bad of an impression on them, as they seem very interested in my work.

The rest of the lunch hours goes about the same speed, hearing more about Ben’s family, telling them more about myself. I think at this point, they’re just glad it isn’t _Steve_ sitting at the table with them. Me, I’ve mastered the ability to discuss my career without coming off as egotistical in any manner. I think that’s what they were expecting. Another Steve Porter. Instead, they got me, and maybe that isn’t such a bad thing.

They’re different than my family. My own parents are always so stiff and formal whenever we get together for dinner. Dad and I have absolutely nothing to talk about, though Mom and I can make polite conversation. All of my extended family live scattered across the country, and for all of the Lance family to get together like this is a rarity. For all of us to be _happy_ together, even rarer to occur. There’s always underlying animosity laced in backhanded comments.

There’s none of that good, clean, wholesome, sitcom family atmosphere at our reunions. Not like this. But the Turners and the Stevens on the other hand seem like friendly, nurturing people, and Ben is very lucky to have them. But as we talk, I see him shoot his father nervous glances every once in a while still. I suppose that’s something I’ll never understand. I know my parents would probably have plenty to say if I told them about my feelings for Ben, but I can’t imagine a world where I wouldn’t still speak to them.

They may not be the most agreeable people, but they’re not the worst people either.

I suppose that’s me in a nutshell as well.

I glance at Mr. Turner across the table and with my eyes, say, ‘At least I’m not Steve.’

When the lunch hour concludes, Ben doesn’t feel like unpacking just yet, and neither do I. He wants to go for a walk, and Anna wants to come, so we offer to take her with us to explore the grounds. I head up to my suite to grab my camera, and meet the both of them on the back deck. Anna is a bundle of energy, just like most six year olds, and adamantly tugs on Ben’s hand. With a chuckle he follows, and as we stroll along, he slips his arm in mine.

“Thank you again, for coming with me,” he says, when we’re away from the lodge. “My family really likes you by the way.”

“I’m glad,” I say, watching as Anna bend to pick a flower, holding it up and smiling. I snap a picture of it, making Ben laugh a little beside me. “What can I say, I’m a sucker for tiny and cute.”

And I don’t just mean Anna when I say that.

“So did you really sell pictures of Helen with that flight attendant to People Magazine?” he asks me.

“Yeah,” I sigh. “I was just walking along the beach with my camera when I found them. Spotted them in my lens. Snapped a few photos. I didn’t even think about it until we got back. And after she packed up her things and filed for divorce, I decided to publish them. I don’t know if it was the right thing to do, but I wanted people to see the _real_ Helen. I wanted the public to see what she did to me, before anyone even made the assumption that I was the problem in our marriage.”

“That explains the animosity between you,” he comments. “Do you regret it?” Ben then asks me, and I shrug at that.

“No, when I think about it, not really.” I glance over at Ben to see him gazing thoughtfully at the grounds around us, the trees, and Anna picking flowers. “What about you? Have anything you regret?”

“Hmm,” he thinks about it. “Not having a second helping of salad,” he finally says and I roll my eyes. He laughs at the face I make. “I don’t miss Steve, if that’s what you’re asking. And I guess I can’t really regret how things turned out, because then I never would’ve met you.”

That is… honestly the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. And might actually mean more than it does if we were actually dating.

But we’re not.

Yet, at least.

But unfortunately, Ben having his arm curled in mine is only because he’s so comfortable with me, and I’m not his date for his sister’s wedding. It’s not like that’s our adopted daughter that’s running ahead of us, giggling, when she sees ducks swimming in a nearby pond. This isn’t my dream. I’m just the helpful friend. And I need to change that. Being here with Ben, meeting his family, and seeing what my life could be if I let go of my fears, has made me determined to face those fears.

But maybe I won’t do it now, right this second. I won’t make things complicated for Ben on the eve of his sister’s wedding. I’ll wait until after. When the moment feels right.

“Look, Uncle Benji, ducks!” Anna squeals happily, clapping her hands, then pointing. I manage to get another picture, when Ben trots over to look at the ducks with her, the both of them smiling, Anna pointing to the ducks, and Ben holding her back to keep her from falling in the water. We linger for just a little longer before we head back to the lodge. Anna’s still young enough that she takes naps in the afternoon, and Ben looks like he’s really to keel over himself.

Maybe I _am_ getting old, because now I fully understand why my grandfather always fell asleep in his recliner this time of day, while watching re-runs.

But we don’t have that luxury, sadly.

We get back to the lodge to find everyone in the communal area, Katherine and their mother drinking iced tea and chatting with Mrs. Stevens, and one of Brian’s cousins, I think? I’m not sure. There are too many faces, but like something out of an L.L. Bean advertisement, people are gathered near the large, ornate fireplace–purely decorative, of course–sipping drinks and talking. Mr. Turner and Mr. Stevens sit in cushioned wing-backs, smoking cigars, glancing up when we arrive.

I can’t resist the urge to snap a photo, and Katherine notices us standing there, then spots her daughter rubbing her sleepy eyes.

Mrs. Turner offers to take Anna upstairs for a nap, and Brian asks if we’d like to join him, Mr. Turner, and Mr. Stevens for nine holes. Too late in the day for all eighteen. I’m not a golfer. I’ve _never_ been a golfer. It’s just really not my game. But what else is there to do at a resort? The pool is still open, but despite Ben’s harassment via text messages, I forgot swim trunks. Not that I would want to go swimming. Nor do I have any inclination toward sun bathing.

My tan only exists thanks to genetics, and I cannot accredit this to any other source.

But I’m kind of tired, I was up way too early, and I drove for three hours.

Ben looks just as reluctant, but also like he’d really hate to disappoint Brian, who is clearly trying desperately to make sure he’s included in family activities, despite Mr. Turner’s scowling, and Brian’s father’s own dejected sigh. Ben looks to me questioningly, as if he’ll base his decision on my answer. I shrug a little. Couldn’t hurt. It will give us more opportunity to get to know one another, do some of that classic male bonding. Maybe I’ll even win a few points with Ben’s father.

My first impression was obviously tactless, and undesirable.

Here’s to shooting for the second.

So, golfing it is then.

There’s no way this could possibly go wrong, is there?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Here Comes The Sun"–The Beatles](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=xUNqsfFUwhY&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Boyfriend's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Or7KezMEXqlIarYmg9-mK)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	12. Saved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I think I just figured out a way to salvage this afternoon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Mr. Blue Sky"–Electric Light Orchestra](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=BmJZ2VxT4VM&feature=share)

It goes completely wrong in the first five minutes.

Just...so horribly wrong.

But surprisingly, it’s not me that ruins it for everyone. I played okay I suppose, thanks to my dad pressuring me into joining a country club when I was younger I at least know how to play and I have a fairly decent swing, but Ben on the other hand is a total klutz. Poor guy, on his first swing, he didn’t even hit the ball. When he swung the golf club, it slipped right out of his hands and hit Mr. Stevens right in the eye.

The next five minutes were spent cringing while Ben apologized profusely to both Brian’s father and Brian himself for the accident. Mr. Stevens assured him repeatedly that it was okay, that he knew it was just an accident, and it wasn’t all that bad really, before Mr. Turner walked him back to the lodge to put ice on his eye. Ben’s father was furious though, like he suspected Ben of intentional sabotage of their game.

We tried tennis after that. Bless his heart, Brian was bound and determined not to let Ben’s mishap ruin the day for all of us, and evidently still determined to do some male bonding with the two of us, so we went to the lodge’s tennis court. Brian and I matched up against one another at one end, Ben and his father at the other. This was also a mistake. Mr. Turner served, Ben hit the ball, and it flew straight to Mr. Turner’s groin.

Okay now that one might seem like it had been done on purpose, but the heart broken look on Ben’s face tells me it was an accident too. He tried to help his dad, but he angrily pushed him away and limped back to the lodge for his own ice pack. Now it’s just the three of us, myself and Brian sitting on either side of Ben on a spectator’s bench, while he sulks miserably, cradling his head in his hands. “God, why do I have to suck at everything,” he groans.

But Brian, who is an absolute saint, pats his shoulder and says, “Hey, it’s okay, Ben. Tennis isn’t for everyone. I kind of suck at it too.”

Liar. He was definitely kicking my ass before Ben hit his dad in the crotch with a tennis ball. I was served in every sense. But obviously Brian is trying to be nice. It’s not really helping though. I think Ben senses that Brian’s just trying to make him feel better because he shrinks even more into the bench between us, like he would rather be anywhere else in the world but here. Me, I’m still moderately pissed at Ben’s father for the way he’s been acting.

I don’t understand why he has to make his son pay so heavily for something that’s so out of his control. It isn’t fair. Ben can’t help the fact that he’s gay. So why does he have to take personal offense to it? It’s not like he was solely depending on Ben to give him grand children, and he already has a beautiful granddaughter thanks to Katherine. I understand that his age is a big factor in all this. His generation grew up with very different morals.

But I mean, _come on_. Get with the times. John Turner really needs to start accepting his son the way he is, or pretty soon the guy’s going to have a personal problem with _me_. I know it’s just my overprotective side rearing it’s ugly head when I say that, and I know that Ben can handle himself, and doesn’t need me butting into his business, but I can’t help it. I’ve been known to be an opinionated asshole on my better days. Today is no different.

So it takes everything in my power to keep my mouth shut and not comment.

Instead I say, “First golf, then tennis. What’s next, cricket? Whatever happened to the good old American pass time?”

Both Ben and Brian look up at me. “You like baseball?” Ben asks, and I shrug a little.

“I played Little League.”

“So did I.”

“Yeah me too,” Brian adds.

Baseball, huh?

I think I just figured out a way to salvage this afternoon.

“I’ve got an idea.”

“Inspiration just struck?” Ben smirks at me.

Indeed it did.

So I pull up Google Maps on my phone and find that there is a Dick’s Sporting Goods only thirty minutes from the resort. Ben, Brian and I hop in the rental car and take the drive to pick up some equipment. When Brian mentioned to Katherine what we were doing, she smiled. So we get to the place and purchase some bats, mitts, bases, and a few extra balls in case we lose one, then I charge all of it to my credit card.

“I really appreciate this,” Brian tells me when we’re waiting in line to check out. “I’ll make sure we return everything tomorrow so you can get your money back.”

“No, it’s not problem, you can keep it.”

“I wouldn’t feel right about it.”

“I insist.”

“Michael,” Ben sighs. “This equipment is expensive. Just let him return it. The last thing I want you doing is going into debt all because of me.”

“I own my own business,” I remind him. “I’ll just give myself a nice Christmas bonus this year.”

He snorts and shakes his head at me.

“You know, you _really_ didn’t have to do this,” Brain says. I shrug.

“Consider it a wedding gift,” I say, and he sighs. But he drops it. Ben frequently shoots me little glances like I’m his hero on this one. I have to say, this is one of my prouder moments. But it’s not a big deal really. It’s just some baseball equipment. It’s not like a saved a dog from a burning building. But it made Ben smile, and that’s all that matters to me. That smile is worth everything. I think I really would run into a burning building for that smile.

We get everything back to the lodge, and by then, Katherine has mentioned to anyone interested that we’ll play a few innings this evening. We go out to the grounds and find the biggest area clear of obstructions and lay down the bases. Anna is awake and excited to play baseball too. She’s all smiles, bouncing from foot to foot in anticipation. I think I’m in love with her. She hits my heart the same way my clients’ children do.

Mr. Stevens of course opts out of playing because of his eye, but he’s an enthusiastic spectator, and the rest of Brian’s family, who are also baseball lovers, come outdoors to watch and some even to play as well. Mr. Turner chooses to stay on the deck and watch from a distance, but he’s definitely watching. I don’t know what he’s thinking, maybe that I’m just some brown nosing schmuck trying to kiss up to his family, but I don’t care.

Because Ben is smiling.

Katherine is the umpire when Anna steps up to bat and I move closer and toss lightly, underhanded, so she can hit the ball. It’s a grounder, and only rolls about twenty feet but everybody cheers loudly like she hit a home run. “Way to go Anna!” I shout, grinning, and take my time retrieving the ball so she can run to first base. It’s an absolute blast. It’s been years since I’ve had this much fun with other human beings.

I’m sad when it’s over, but eventually it gets a little too dark to play, and we retreat inside to gather in the dining hall for a banquet dinner. Ben and I are exhausted when it’s over and both of us groan when we remember we still have yet to unpack. I’ve just finished putting everything away and hanging my tux in the walk-in closet when I hear a faint knock on my door. I cross the room to open the door and see Ben standing there.

He’s holding an unpopped bag of popcorn and a DVD of Jerry Lewis’ The Nutty Professor. “I borrowed it from Mom,” he tells me. “I remembered you said it was your favorite, and I saw the rooms had microwaves so I got some popcorn from downstairs.” I let him into my room and offer to put the popcorn in the microwave while Ben sets up the movie for us. “That was a very nice thing you did today,” he says when we settle on the bed.

“It really wasn’t that big of a deal,” I say. And I mean that. I sigh a little at the look he gives me.

“Still, it was nice of you,” he says. “I felt so bad about what happened, but once we started playing, it was like everybody forgot about it. And the way you brought everyone together like that. Even my dad seemed impressed. You were… you were kind of my hero.”

“I’m happy to be.”

He smiles and scoots closer so he can lay his head on my shoulder while we snack on the bag of popcorn between us and watch the movie. Half way through I notice that Ben fell asleep, but I don’t have the heart to move him. I manage to covertly slip my arm around him and pull him closer, and in his sleepy state he snuggles into my side and hums blissfully. He fits so perfectly. It’s almost like we were made for each other.

But I don’t want to give people the wrong impression if they were to see Ben stumbling out of my room in the morning, so when the movie’s over I very carefully scoop him up and carry him back to his own room. It’s a struggle to get the door open and shut, then get him tucked under his covers without waking him. But, obviously I’m Superman, because somehow I manage and Ben is still fast asleep when I close the door behind me.

But I’m caught red handed by none other than Brian, as I’m leaving Ben’s room. He folds his arms and grins at me, like he suspects there’s more going on between us than I let on. “It’s not what it what it looks like,” I say, but his smile only gets more cheeky than before. Like he thinks I’m lying, and I’m so transparent right now that it’s ridiculous to keep lying like this. “He, uh,” I scratch my head, “We were watching a movie and he fell asleep.”

“Right, yeah, a movie. Sure.”

“I swear I’m not making it up. We just watched a movie in my room, so, you know, I…” I gesture to his door and wave my hands around like that’s somehow supposed to translate to actual words. “There’s nothing going on between us.”

“God, you are _so_ transparent,” he sighs, shaking his head at me.

“I’m serious, we’re just friends. Ben doesn’t even want a relationship right now, after what happened with Steve, and I’m divorced, with my own set of problems, and I mean, if things didn’t work out between us, we might not be able to be friends afterwards, and…” All the while I ramble, Brian just smiles at me like it’s the biggest load of crap he’s ever heard. I deflate a little. He’s right. It’s a load of crap. It’s just excuses. “Is it that obvious?” I grumble.

He chuckles. “That you’re in love with him? Yeah, yeah it’s pretty obvious.”

“Shit,” I curse, running fingers through my hair. If Brian can see it, maybe everyone else does as well.

“I mean I get why the both of you would be hesitant, but I see the way Ben looks at you. He obviously has feelings for you too. And you guys are great together. I think you could really make each other happy. Why not just go for it? Why are you sticking yourself in the friend zone like this?”

I glance down the hallway and step closer. “To be honest, I’ve never felt like this before,” I admit quietly. “Especially for another guy.”

“Ah,” he nods in understanding. “So this is pretty much virgin territory for you.”

“Sadly yes.”

Once again he nods. “Well I can’t give you any advice in that department. I’m a ‘women only’ guy, but… I can tell you what a friend of mine told me when I was hesitant to take the leap with Kat and ask her out. I mean there I was, with the most beautiful woman, the woman of my dreams, and I was terrified to ask her out because I worried about how badly things would go between us, and I was scared to lose her. I was wreck. So you know what that friend said?”

“What’s that?”

“She told me that if we’re really meant to be, then there’s really nothing to be scared of. You’re not Steve, Michael, and Ben is not your ex wife. Just because things ended so badly with previous relationships, that’s not a guarantee that things will fall apart between the two of you. If anything, it might only strengthen your relationship with Ben. But you’re not going to know how things will turn out until you take that leap.”

I sigh a little at that. Deep down I know Brian is right, and it’s really just my own insecurities that have been holding me back, but hearing it from someone else just kind of reinforces it. I know I did a nice thing for everyone today, but I think Brian is the real hero here. I mean, this guy has a heart of gold. It’s no wonder Katherine wants to marry him, despite her own hang ups with previous relationships.

“So who was this friend, anyway, that gave you that advice?” I ask him, and he smiles again.

“It was my fiancé actually,” he chuckles. “I didn’t mention any names when I asked her for advice, so you can imagine her surprise when I turned around and said ‘Will you go out with me’.”

I chuckle a little at that. “But obviously things worked out for you.”

“They will for you too. Just don’t stress about it so much. Like I said, if it’s really meant to be, there’s nothing to be scared of. And if you’re worried about ruining your friendship, well then obviously you guys weren’t that great of friends to begin with, if you let this get in the way. And I’m pretty sure it won’t. Just be honest with Ben about how you feel, and I’m sure he’ll understand. He really cares about you a lot. He probably knows exactly how you feel.”

I can only nod my head at all that.

“Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” he says. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go pretend I’m actually a bit nervous about getting married tomorrow, instead of completely ecstatic that I’m about to spend the rest of my life with the woman of my dreams and her wonderful daughter.”

I laugh a little at that, shaking my head. So does he. “Goodnight, Brian.”

“Goodnight, Michael.”

He heads the direction he was going, and I head back to my room.

I close the door behind me with a smile on my face, despite my own nervousness. It’s ironic really. This guy is about to sign his life away, yet he’s bubbling over with joy, and me, I haven’t signed up for anything, but still I’m worrying myself to pieces over Ben. But I know that Brian is right. If we’re meant to be together, then I have nothing to worry about. I love Ben, and I have no doubt in my mind we’re meant to be together.

Of all people to believe in fate, I’m now one of those people, because of Ben Turner.

Because yes, I think I do believe in fate, after all.

And I have absolutely nothing to worry about whatsoever.

Thankfully, I get a good night’s sleep that night, dreaming that _I’m_ the one that’s about to see the love of my life walking down the isle, and pretending I’m actually nervous about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Here Comes The Sun"–The Beatles](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=xUNqsfFUwhY&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Boyfriend's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Or7KezMEXqlIarYmg9-mK)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	13. Congratulations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I scan the crowd for a moment. “I lied to all of you,” I say, and now people are curious._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Hey Jude"–The Beatles](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=mQER0A0ej0M&feature=share)

While Brian’s pre wedding jitters consist purely of excitement over marrying the love of his life, Katherine’s on the other hand I suspect are more to do with nerves. Saturday morning the families have already left the resort to make the twenty-five minute drive to the chapel where the ceremony will take place, but Katherine is still up on the second floor in her suite getting ready, and possibly procrastinating.

Mr. and Mrs. Turner have already left with little Anna, who looks adorable in her fluffy pink dress covered in little rose pink flowers. She is, of course, the flower girl, and is grinning from ear to ear when her grandparents strap her into the backseat of their car and drive to the chapel. But Ben is still upstairs with Katherine, helping her with any last minute adjustments to the dress, and styling her hair, and they’re a bit behind schedule.

I’m downstairs waiting for Ben, checking my watch when suddenly he darts out of the elevator. He looks, well, amazing actually. His tux is perfectly tailored to fit his slender frame, his hair is combed back away from his face, held in place with a little hair gel, and he looks pretty sharp. Quite suddenly I feel very inadequate when my eyes rake over him. He’s entirely too good looking for a schmuck like me, I think.

Seriously, I think he could do better.

But I don’t have time to compliment him.

“We have a problem,” he says, panic in his voice, when he sees me.

Uh-oh. I think I know where this is going. For months now Ben has been on the phone with Katherine trying to reassure her that Brian has no intention of leaving the altar, but evidently none of those reassurances have worked. “Let me guess, bride’s got cold feet?”

He half-nods and shrugs a little, saying, “Sort of. But she won’t come down. She thinks Brian’s going to change his mind about marrying her. She’s freaking out, and I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried everything, but she still won’t leave the room. She refuses. She still thinks he’ll only leave her at the altar. We might have to call mom and dad and tell them we’ll be late, or…that she’s not coming.”

I take a deep breath, thinking about it. “Maybe I can help,” I say, and wave him into the elevator with me. Obviously no one else has had any success at convincing Katherine that she has nothing to worry about, so maybe I can change her mind. I know I’m a practical stranger here, but from what I’ve seen, Brian genuinely loves both Katherine and Anna, and there is no way in hell that man will change his mind.

So we rush back up to Katherine’s suite. When Ben opens the door I see her sitting on a bench, looking spectacular, like she stepped right off the page of a David’s Bridal catalogue, except her face is blotchy and red, mascara is running down her cheeks, and she’s holding a Kleenex instead of a bouquet. She’s in tears, and glances up when we enter, looking embarrassed to have been caught in such a state.

Ben walks over to her, sits on the padded bench next to her, and reaches for her hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

“Ben tells me you’ve got a case of cold feet,” I say, and her shoulders slump. “What’s all this about? I thought you loved Brian. Ben tells me all the time how happy the two of you are.”

She bursts into tears again.

“I do, but…why would he ever want to marry me?” she sobs. “I’ve already been married and divorced once, and have a child with another man! How could he even want to be with me?” She sniffs a little, then dabs her nose. “Rob never wanted to be a father,” she continues. “He couldn’t handle the responsibility. How can I put all of that on Brian’s shoulders? I…I can’t just expect him to be okay with raising a child that isn’t his.”

I sigh and step closer, coming to join them on the bench, sitting on the other side of Katherine and patting her shoulder. “I’ve seen Brian with Anna,” I tell her. “I can tell he loves her like he would his own flesh and blood, Katherine. Family is what you make of it. It doesn’t have to be conventional to make you happy. Not when you really love someone. And Brian really loves you. Both of you.”

She still doesn’t look convinced, so I continue.

“You know last night he told me he actually has to _pretend_ to be nervous about getting married?” I say, and even Ben is a little surprised when I say that. “Because inside he’s the happiest man on the planet and doesn’t want to look like a total nutcase,” I chuckle. “But he is. He’s head over heels, and so insanely happy to marry you, to be in yours and Anna’s life, Katherine. He’s not going to change his mind and run out on you.”

“How can you be so sure?” she asks me.

“You just have to trust it,” I shrug. “You know, he told me something else last night too. He said if it’s really meant to be, then there’s nothing to be scared of. But you’re not going to know how things work out if you’re not willing to put your faith in someone.”

Out of the corner of my eye, Ben is giving me this confused, curious look, probably wondering just why Brian would give me that advice, but I keep my mouth shut. This is not about us right now, this is about Katherine and Brian. It’s their wedding day, not mine. So I stay focused on that. Katherine, on the other hand, is oblivious to my unusual statement, more interested in the words themselves than the reasons behind them.

She actually smiles a little. “You know, I…I told him something similar once,” she said. Then she chuckles a little, shaking her head, like she’s remembering it. “Back when we were just friends. He came to me asking for my advice, said he’d found someone he was interested in, but was a little nervous about asking her out. I told him that. I told him to go for it. And then,” she laughs, “He asked me out. I was the woman he wanted to be with.”

“From what I’ve seen, nothing has changed,” I say. “Believe me, Katherine, I know what it’s like to be hesitant because you’re scared of losing someone. When my ex wife and I divorced, I thought I would never be happy again, that I could never make someone else happy either, because I made so many mistakes, and, well, I’m kind of a schmuck really. I’m surprised people can even stand to be around me, but…”

Both Ben and Katherine eye me curiously. “But?” she prompts.

My eyes meet Ben’s.

“But…sometimes we’re lucky enough to find that one person who maybe isn’t perfect, but is still right for us,” I say. “Someone who accepts our faults, and loves us for who we are. You found that with Brian. Trust me, he’ll be waiting for you the chapel. He’s not going anywhere. But if we don’t hurry, he’ll think _you_ changed your mind about being with _him_ , and it will crush him. So…maybe we should get going soon?”

She deflates in a sigh, tension melting from her frame and nods a little. “Thank you,” she tells me. “Both of you.” She squeezes Ben’s hand where it rests in hers and reaches for mine. “I really appreciate this.” She glances at me. “You know your ex was really stupid to walk away from a wonderful man like you,” she tells me.

“I’m glad she did,” I say. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise. I wouldn’t have such exceptional people in my life. And I never would’ve met your brother.”

Once more my eyes catch Ben’s.

We’re finally ready, I think, so Ben assists Katherine with cleaning up, redoing the ruined make-up, and the three of us head down to the first floor. Katherine looks radiant now, like that last little nudge was all she needed to finally let go of her anxiety and replace it with bubbling excitement. She blushes and smiles in the back seat, en route to the chapel. But once we arrive, her smile fades, like she still isn’t sure.

She walks up to the door with a nervous frown, and cracks it open. Everyone is inside, Brian is standing at the altar, waiting, checking his watch. She lets out a sigh in relief. She hugs Ben first, then even offers me one, just as John Turner is coming outside, preparing to walk his daughter down the isle for the second–but hopefully the last–time, and Ben and I head inside. Brian’s eyes are alight with curiosity when we enter and take our seats.

I covertly give him a thumbs up in the pew and he relaxes. No, Katherine didn’t change her mind, and there is still a wedding. Soon, the infamous wedding march commences to play on a pipe organ.

We all turn in our seats to see the bride, escorted by her father, and I’ve never seen a brighter smile on her face. Brian has a matching grin of his own as he watches Katherine slowly approach, handing off the bouquet as she steps up to Brian and he takes her hand in his. The ceremony is beautiful. Throughout the bride and groom are nothing but happy teary smiles. Yes, even Brian is tearing up a little. He’s that happy.

“Thank you, Michael,” Ben whispers next to me. I smile a little and squeeze his hand.

Most of the ceremony is the standard dialogue, but when they get to the part where the bride and groom are to take their vows, the pastor announces that they’ve decided to recite their own. Katherine goes first. “Brian,” she says, smiling still, “You are the best thing to ever happen to me and my daughter. I…I can’t tell you how happy I am that you worked up the nerve to ask me out in the first place.” A few people chuckle at that, even Brian.

“And to this day,” she continues, “There is not a moment with you that I regret. I’m the happiest woman in the world. And I promise you to always do my best to show you that, each and every day, for the rest of our lives.”

I swear I think I see more tears in Brian’s eyes.

Now it’s his turn to make similar promise to the bride, but he clears his throat and says, “This–uh–this was something I’ve prepared to say to Anna, actually.” People are curious at this, as Brian lets go of Katherine with one hand and stretches it out to Anna, sitting in the front row. “Anna, come up here,” he says, and she stands up, hopping up the steps to Brian, who bends down and scoops her into his arms.

She looks a little unsure of suddenly being in the spotlight, but Brian says, “Anna, you know I’m marrying your mom, today.” She nods, picking at the flowers on her dress in nervousness. “But I’m not just going to be her husband. I’m going to officially be your step-dad. So, I’m going to make you a promise, okay?” She nods and mumbles a little ‘okay’. “I promise you, Anna, that I will _always_ love you, and I will always be there for you, no matter what.

Anytime you need me, okay? Because I love you, and you and your mom are the best thing to ever happen to me. I don’t know what I would do without you guys.” As Brian is speaking, Katherine is sniffling, quietly sobbing happy tears and dabbing her nose with the back of her gloved hand. I glance over to see that beside me, so is Ben. So once more I squeeze his hand and I see him smile at me. “So are you okay with all that?” Brian asks Anna.

She nods. Then she wraps her arms around his neck. “I love you too,” she says, and the crowd melts, some of them saying ‘awe’. “So does this mean your my daddy now?”

“Uh, well, I kind of have to finish marrying your mom first.”

“Okay, well, hurry up!” she says, and people laugh. Brian puts her down and she skips back to her seat, smiling. Soon, the ceremony concludes as the pastor happily pronounces them married and Brian and Katherine share their first kiss as husband and wife. Anna is the loudest one cheering them both, bouncing in her seat and clapping. We all stand up and clap as Brian sweeps up Anna once more to carry her down the isle with them.

Then the entire procession leaves the chapel. It’s not quite the storybook wedding one might expect, but that’s what makes it so special. Because Katherine and Brian are two of the happiest newlyweds I have ever seen. I was never that excited when Helen and I eloped. We send them off, then drive back to the resort for the reception. By then, the decorators have finished arranging the dining hall, and the band is all set up as well.

There’s cake and smiles. Ben is crying as he hugs his sister tightly in congratulations. Everyone is lining up to give them their own. Me, I’m happy to sip my champagne and snap the occasional photo with my camera. I’m thinking of asking Ben if he wants to dance when the music starts up. Okay, well, when a slow song starts playing. I don’t think I could cut a rug to the faster paced music quite like Anna does.

I watch her drag Ben to the dance floor and the two are giggling as Ben twirls her around and busts a few moves of his own. He’s actually a pretty great dancer.

But just when everything seems like it’s going great, there’s unexpected company. The evening is winding down a little and most people have taken their seats at the surrounding tables, eating a second helping of wedding cake, or sampling the snacks from the buffet. Sipping champagne and chatting. But then, suddenly, the band that’s been playing stops, as someone shoves the singer away from the microphone.

A guy in a t-shirt and jeans, who looks irreverently trashed, snatches the microphone and taps it a few times to get everyone’s attention. I’ve got a bad feeling about this guy. I also suspect who he might be. Rob, Katherine’s ex, and Anna’s biological father. He sways a little, face beet red, and I know he must’ve been at a bar before he came here, because even from where I’m sitting next to Ben I can smell the booze on this guy.

“Hey everybody,” he slurs, and I look to see that Katherine and Brian are shocked to see him. Actually, most of the reception is shocked to see him here. Shocked, and pissed. “Wow, Kat you…you look great,” he says. “Doesn’t she look great everyone? I mean wow, she didn’t look half as good when we got married.” At this point Brian rises to his feet, clenching both fists and walks over to Rob. “And here he is, the man of the hour!”

“What are you doing here, Rob?” Brian hisses.

“Hey I’m just giving my congrats, man,” he laughs. “Good job buddy, you stole my wife, you son of a bitch, and now she’s your problem, right?”

Several people gasp at the profane way he speaks. “Robert your daughter is watching this!” Brian exclaims, pointing to Anna nearby, sitting on her grandmother’s lap at the table, looking very confused, and maybe even frightened at the way her father is acting.

“Oh yeah,” he says, “I forgot. Hey baby!” He waves at Anna, who hides her face. “Daddy misses you. But I guess you don’t miss me, huh, ‘cause mommy went and married _this_ asshole.” Anna starts tearing up, and Katherine reaches to reassure her daughter.

“It’s okay, baby,” she tells her.

“Rob!” Brian barks. “What is wrong with you?! Why are you doing this right now? Alright, you know what, that’s it, you need to leave, right now.”

Rob physically shoves Brian when he reaches for his arm to steer him out of the room. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” he sneers. “Well, I hope you’re happy now. You got everything you want, right? You got the perfect life, huh? You got Kat, you got my kid, and you got all these wonderful guests at your picture perfect wedding, yeah? Well, how do you like your new family, Bri? Is it everything you hoped for?”

“Rob, if you don’t leave right now, I swear–”

“How do you like your new brother-in-law, Brian? Did you know he’s _gay_? Huh? How do you like that? That your new brother’s a flamer? Yeah! Yeah, everyone, Ben is gay! What you think of that?”

A few people gasp, and everyone in the room glances at Ben, who’s suddenly very uncomfortable. Everyone is staring. Alright, that’s it, I’ve had enough of this guy. I stand up, throw my napkin down and march over to to Rob. I snatch him up by the arm. “I think you’ve worn out your welcome, buddy,” I say. “Time to go home.” Rob shirks away from me, but neither I nor Brian give him any option, grabbing him by the shoulders.

We toss him out. Despite his angry threats, he’s too drunk to put up a fight. And between the two of us, he doesn’t have the strength to fight us off as we drag him out of the reception hall by his arms. Some of the resort’s staff are poking their heads out the door to watch, curious, as we toss him out on his ass. He flops around on the walkway, clutching his arm where he fell on it, groaning. “And don’t come back!” Brian barks at him.

We stay outside and keep a watchful eye on Rob as he stumbles to the parking lot. I feel Brian pat my shoulder. “Thanks man,” he says.

“Anytime,” is my reply. When we no longer see Rob anymore, we head back inside, Brian stopping to tell the staff that if he comes back, to call the police. Then we head back to the reception hall. It’s eerily quiet when we enter. Some people are murmuring, and some are still staring at Ben. While the immediate family knows he’s gay, maybe not all of the extended family knew. Ben’s father looks furious that it was ever mentioned.

I can’t take it anymore.

So instead of following Brian to the tables, I head over to where the band is set up, and snatch the microphone off the floor. I think it’s time I finally shared some of my thoughts with the Turner clan. And at the moment, I haven’t a care for the consequences. I clear my throat, and suddenly everyone was staring at me. “Well, that was a little unexpected, wasn’t it?” I ask, and there are mixed reactions. My eyes make their way to Ben.

I scratch my head. “Some of you already know me, but for the rest of you, my name is Michael Lance, and I came here tonight introducing myself as a friend of Ben Turner. You’ll uh, you’ll have to forgive me, I’m not very good with public speaking, just being overly blunt and sarcastic.” Surprisingly, a few people actually chuckle at that. “But I uh, I just wanted to take the time to say a few things. Especially after what just happened.

And maybe admit to some things that I haven’t previously. I…” I scan the crowd for a moment. “I lied to all of you,” I say, and now people are curious. “I’m sorry for that, but I’m not actually a friend of Ben’s. I’m…I’m his _boyfriend_.” Eyes widen and people gasp. Ben’s eyes are practically bulging out of his head. “I was hesitant to tell anyone about our relationship, but after what just happened, I thought I should.”

Nearby, sitting beside Katherine with Anna in his lap, I see Brian smirking.

“But I realized something tonight. I realized that I shouldn’t _ever_ be ashamed of how I feel. And neither should Ben. In fact, if anyone has a problem with the fact that he’s gay, you’re the ones that should be ashamed of yourselves. Ben is one of the most wonderful people I have ever met, and I can’t tell you how glad I am to be his boyfriend. Every minute spent with Ben is unequivocal. And I treasure it with all my heart.

Katherine, your brother is amazing. And obviously it runs in the family, because you’re pretty amazing too. Brian, I mean my god it’s no wonder you wanted to marry this woman. And if she is able to make you feel _half_ as blessed as Ben makes me feel, each and every day, I know without a doubt the two of you are going to be so happy together. I just wanted you to know that. And let me also say congratulations to you both.”

I pick up a champagne glass. “To the bride and groom, everyone,” I say, lifting the glass, and I see others do so as well, toasting the two of them, and clapping. I glance at the band. “Alright, I’ll get out their way now so they can get back to work, and Brian can take his wonderful wife for a spin on the dance floor.” I see Katherine mouth a small ‘thank you’ as I’m hanging up the mic, then return to my seat.

I turn my head to see John Turner staring at me. Shocked. Speechless. Perhaps surprised that I would so valiantly defend our relationship. Oh it was so worth the effort to see this guy’s face. His son is just as surprised when I sit down next to him, smile and reach for his hand. I kiss the back of it. Ben looks like he’s about to cry really. I doubt he was expecting me to pull the fake boyfriend card to save him from embarrassment.

Of course, everything I feel, on the other hand? Genuine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Here Comes The Sun"–The Beatles](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=xUNqsfFUwhY&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Boyfriend's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Or7KezMEXqlIarYmg9-mK)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	14. Unexpectedly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Ben, I…” Another deep breath. “I-I have something I need to tell you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Vienna"–Billy Joel](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=irl89Gmcv8c&feature=share)

All around us people are still talking about Katherine’s ex and his outrageous behavior before Brian and I threw him out on his ass. I still can’t believe he actually showed up and caused a scene like that. But at least it was at the reception and not during the wedding, so he didn’t ruin their beautiful, heartwarming and emotional nuptials. Katherine got the perfect wedding she deserves, even if things got a little heated afterwards.

But what’s most important is that Ben’s sister is now happily married. She’s currently on the dance floor, making a very touching scene to behold, sharing her first dance with Brian as husband and wife. They are the center of attention, their audience a crowd of very moved individuals because when they started dancing, Anna ran out onto the floor, tugged on her mother’s dress and asked if she could dance with them, feeling left out.

Instead of shooing her away, Brian picked her up and set her on his hip, so now he’s got Anna on one shoulder, Katherine on the other, with his arms around both and they’re swaying to the music. I can’t resist the urge to snap pictures of it, making Ben chuckle in his seat beside me. The song is something I’ve never heard and I don’t know the name of the artist, but it’s very romantic, and very appropriate for those two.

When it’s over, people start to clap, but Brian and Kat both bold up fingers and say, “Shh!” Then they point to Anna, who’s still laying her head on Brian’s shoulder. Evidently she fell asleep at some point, and there’s a bout of soft awes and chuckling from some of the guests, including myself and Ben. Brian’s mother gets up and approaches the couple, offering to take Anna up to their suite and put her to bed, so they carefully hand her over.

Another song starts playing, Brian’s father asks Katherine for a dance, so Brian switches partners and dances with Mrs. Turner. Mr. Turner mingles with some of the guests at another table and many others are standing and pairing off to dance as well. It’s another slow song, and if there’s one thing I can do, that’s stand in one spot and sway back and forth to a slow song… Even if I’m not very talented at anything beyond that.

I stand up, then turn to Ben and offer my hand.

“Care for a dance?” I ask him, and he smiles up at me.

“I’d like that very much,” he tells me, then takes my hand.

Now Ben and I have a turn at being the center of attention, as people realize we’re walking into the crowd hand-in-hand, about to dance. They’re pointing and murmuring to one another, but in my peripheral vision I see Katherine glancing over her father-in-law’s shoulder and smiling at us. Then I turn my head just in time to catch Brian grinning and giving me a thumbs up behind Mrs. Turner’s back.

I don’t want to imagine the dirty look I’m getting from Ben’s father right now as he watches us find a spot on the dance floor and I slip my arm around his son. But it’s probably murderous. I feel like I should be gloating over it, but I’m too busy staring into Ben’s eyes as we join hands and start swaying that I can literally see nothing else but him. It’s like the world just fell away from around me, and it’s only the two of us.

Just like everything else with Ben, it just feels right. No, more than that. It feels _perfect_. I feel like this is where I was always meant to be. It’s different than dancing with a woman, and when I pull Ben closer to me it does feel much different than what I’m used to, but as crazy as this might sound I think that’s what I love about it the most? Because it’s _Ben_. That’s what makes it so special, so unique, and so like nothing else I’ve ever felt.

Because the way I feel right now is like I’ve finally found my other half.

There’s a part of me that’s been missing all my life, and now I’ve finally _found_ that missing piece.

“You look fantastic, by the way,” I comment, smirking, then watch him bashfully look away, and I think he’s even blushing too.

“Thank you,” he mumbles.

Eventually his eyes meet mine again as he looks me over.

“So do you,” he says. “I mean, you look…” He fumbles for a second like he’s nervous, trying to figure out what to say. Finally he sighs and says, “You look incredible, Michael.”

I shrug. “An obvious lie, but I’ll take the compliment nonetheless, no matter how flimsy.”

He snorts. “I was being serious, you know. I meant it. You look great.”

I chuckle. Yeah right. “Thank you,” I say and Ben smiles at me.

He slides his arm around my waist to pull himself flush against me and place his head under my chin. He fits perfectly underneath it, just like I always pictured he would, and if he’s paying any attention to it, I know Ben can feel my heart racing in my chest. I don’t know if he thinks maybe it’s just pounding because I’m not used to dancing with another guy and it’s just new and strange, or because eyes are on me, but he murmurs, “Are you okay?”

I am. More than okay, actually. I’m holding the literal man of my dreams right now.

“I’ve never been better,” I chuckle, hearing him snort in response.

“Thank you,” I hear, and I rest my chin in his hair, letting my eyes close. “You know, for what you said earlier.”

“That’s what boyfriends are for, right?” I say, wondering when the right moment would be to tell him how I _really_ feel about him. To tell him that everything I said about him I meant, and how deeply in love with him I think I might be. Is now a good time? Should I just reach up right now, this second, lift his chin, and kiss him right in front of all his family and these practical strangers? Or should I wait until we have a moment alone together?

I spend the entirety of the song wracking my brain as we’re swaying back and forth and in the end I don’t say anything, because I really don’t want to ruin this moment should everything go sideways, because this feels absolutely too perfect to be real. Ben needs this too. His family should see him dancing with a guy who doesn’t care if they’re watching or if anyone has a problem with it. I think his father really needs to see that as well.

Whether or not I’m really his boyfriend, I really need to be that guy for him. If I’m not willing to stand up for him, defend him and his choices, and help him be who he really is with no fear or shame, then I don’t really deserve him. Eventually the song ends and I hear people clapping. Ben and I applaud the band as well, but then they start playing a faster song and I panic. I can’t dance to this. There is no way I’ll avoid making an ass of myself.

“Are you alright?” Ben asks me, when he see my worried look.

I glance around, then lean in to hiss, “I can’t dance to this.”

He laughs a little, nodding in understanding. “It’s not really my thing either,” he says with a shrug. Then he sighs, glancing around at the faster paced dancing as well. “Want to get some air?” he asks and I nod. That sounds great actually. Sounds like just the opportunity I needed, as we both escape the crowd and head outside to the deck overlooking the grounds. It’s been decorated as well, though not as heavily as the reception area.

But there are strings of lights, and matching white table cloths covering the tables outside. A few other guests slipped away as well, but they’re at the far end of the deck, chatting among themselves and hardly paying any attention to us at the moment. We walk over to the banister and both lean against it, gazing at the scenery before us. I hear Ben sigh next to me, almost wistfully, though it could also be fatigue. It’s been a long day.

The resort almost looks magical at night, covered in darkness, with maybe an electric lantern here and there to light the gravel path winding its way through the green, and the occasional firefly blinking in the trees. The moon is out, but there’s not a cloud in sight, and this far away from the city the whole sky is lit up by stars. I almost forgot what they looked like, spending so much time with my nose to the grindstone, with my eye to the camera lens.

But now it’s just me and Ben. I left my camera inside on the table when I stood up to dance with him. There’s no lens to hide behind, obstructing me from what I want this time around, which is right in front of me now.

“Thank you,” he says again. “You really didn’t have to say all those things about us being together, but I’m really glad you did. Ever since Steve and I broke up, everyone’s been on my case about finding someone new, but now I don’t have to.”

“Because now they see you’re finally happy with someone else?” I ask, and he nods.

“Yeah. It’s just too bad it isn’t real though,” he says, picking at the wood beneath his hand with his finger nail. “You’re my perfect guy, you know,” he adds. “You’re smart, you’re funny, and very handsome too. You’re passionate about your career, you absolutely love kids and animals, you’re _honest_ , and you don’t let other people’s opinions about you change who you are. You would definitely be the kind of guy I’d go out with. Oh, plus you like The Beatles.”

I chuckle at that last part. “You know you’re kind of perfect too?” I say, and Ben looks up at me. “Well, not kind of, because I mean you absolutely _are_ , but…I just meant you’re the kind of person I want to be with too. You’re kind and sweet, just the right mix of excitement, adrenalin and chaos that makes me feel like I’m still in my twenties and completely takes my breath away, but yet you also make me feel so calm, and centered…

You keep me grounded. You remind me every day of why I wanted to do what I do in the first place. You give me a _reason_ to roll out of bed in the morning, and you’re always so genuine too. You’re _so_ compassionate, and so full of love, you’re funny, you’re quirky, you’re charming, and just the right amount of romantic and absurd that I can definitely be on board with.” He chuckles. “You’re just…you’re amazing Ben. You’re absolutely _perfect_ for me.”

Ben snickers a little. “Now if I could just hear somebody say that to me that genuinely wants to date me, and I’d be in heaven.”

I take a deep breath. “Yeah…about that.”

I push myself away from the banister so I can look at him face to face, and he turns to me, confusion written all over his. “What…what do you mean ‘about that’?” he asks me, and now is one of those times I wish he wasn’t quite so ditzy and clueless, because even though it’s tremendously cute, it makes this infinitely harder for me to do, because it means I just have to come out and say it. But the words are stuck in my throat.

“Ben, I…” Another deep breath. “I-I have something I need to tell you.”

“Michael, what’s-”

“There you are!” I hear Brian say from the door leading to the reception hall, and I sigh a little. “Katherine’s been looking for you both,” he says as he approaches. “We just wanted to make you sure guys were okay. That was kind of crazy what happened, right? I can’t believe Rob had the gall to crash our reception like that. But your speech, Michael, that was incredible, and…and I’m interrupting something, aren’t I?”

I both love and hate this man right now.

“Oh, uh,” Ben glances back and forth between us. “Michael was just about to tell me something actually.” Brian’s eyes widen.

“Wait does he mean–You were going to–It’s–it’s _that_ time? Like you’re doing it right now? You know where you tell him you–you know…” He gestures vaguely with his hands. Yeah, he’s interrupting my love confession. I just nod a little. “Oh my god I’m interrupting your moment. I am so, so sorry.” He makes a yikes face. “I’m just gonna…I’m gonna go. I’ll see you guys inside.” He turns away, but then quickly turns back. “Oh wait let me just…”

Brian quickly hugs Ben, squeezing him tight. “Had to have my first _actual_ bro hug,” he chuckles. “We’re officially family now.” Ben smiles and hugs him just as tightly. “Love you, little brother.”

“I love you too,” Ben tells him. Then they break apart and Brian finally makes himself scarce.

But as he’s heading through the door he shouts back behind him, “Oh but congrats by the way!”

Winking at me before disappearing inside.

Ben wrings his hands nervously, gazing up at me with this pure, innocent look of curiosity as he turns to face me again, expecting us to pick back up where we left off before Brian interrupted. I’ve lost the will to speak really, heart pounding frantically in my chest, but I know that I owe Ben an explanation. “So,” Ben chirps brightly. “What was it you wanted to tell me, Michael?”

“I…”

Damn.

I fumble for a second.

“You were…you were saying how you wish what I said to you was real,” I begin carefully. “I-It was. I meant what I said, Ben. I meant all of it.”

Ben sighs. “I know, and it’s very sweet of you, Michael, but I meant-”

“No, just…just hear me out, Ben. I mean that I…” Oh god what am I even trying to say here?! I fidget for a moment, eventually turning away from Ben as I search for the right words. Sadly I’m just not as talented with them as Ben always seems to be, both in always knowing just the right things to say, as well as expressing himself through written word. But me, I…well, let’s just say words are not my area of expertise. They’re Ben’s.

I’m much better expressing myself through my art, but this is not one of those moments I can use that to my advantage somehow. I can’t hide behind my lens and let my photos do the talking for me this time around. Absently I run my hand through my hair and for all I know I’ve just completely ruined all the effort it took to get it to lay straight for once in my life. I take a deep breath and let it out in a sigh.

“Ben, I’m not…I’m not pretending anymore,” I say.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, as if he doesn’t understand. Or can he just not believe he’s hearing it?

I finally know what I want to say though, so I turn to face him.

“…To be your boyfriend. I’m not just pretending anymore. Ben, what I said tonight, what I feel…it _is_ real. I know we’ve just been faking a relationship, but everything I told you, I meant every word. I don’t…I don’t just want to just fake being your boyfriend anymore. I…I think I’d like to try the real thing for a change.” Ben’s eyes are huge on his face as I confess all this, gaping at me in complete disbelief. “Ben, I’m saying I _do_ want to date you.”

“Michael, I…You…But you’re…” He trails off for a moment and just stares up at me. “Michael, you’re straight,” he blurts out. “You’re not…”

“I’m not?” I repeat.

“You mean you’re actually…curious?” Oh I’m not just curious. I’m very convinced I’m attracted to him, and even if it’s not anything remotely like being with a woman, I’m not convinced I won’t still thoroughly enjoy it. But this isn’t about my sexuality right now. This is about my _romantic_ feelings for Ben Turner. I absently nod at his question to get my point across though. “How long have you felt this way?” he asks.

I scratch my head. The whole time I guess? But I don’t think I should admit to that. “You know that ‘fake’ date we went on? Dinner at Giuliani’s? That was…that was actually real?” I wince a little. “Or at least it started out that way, but…”

“Wait, you mean to tell me that when you asked me out that night at the gallery, you…you _meant_ that? As in like, not as another fake date, but that was actually you asking me out?”

“Yeah.”

“But you said-”

“You thought it was fake and I was going to tell you the truth but I sort of chickened out? So I just went with it, you know, let you continue believing it was fake, and…and yeah.” His eyes widen even more, which I didn’t actually think was possible, but evidently I was wrong. Trying to lighten the mood a little I chuckle nervously and say, “It did hurt my feelings a little, you know, that you didn’t take it seriously, but in hindsight it’s kind of comical really.”

“Comical?!” he exclaims. “I hardly find me making a complete ass of myself comical!”

I sigh, then reach for his hand. “At any rate,” I stress, gently pulling him closer, slipping my arms around his shoulders, “I do like you, Ben, and I genuinely feel that way about you, so I was wondering if maybe you might feel the same.” He looks genuinely _afraid_ right now though, and not so happy that I like him, which gives me a bad feeling about this. But I hold my breath and wait patiently for his response. Ben blinks rapidly, like he’s coming out of a trance.

“I-I can’t do this,” he blurts and pushes away from me.

What?!

“Ben, I-”

“I’m sorry, Michael, I just can’t.”

He turns and briskly walks back inside the building, leaving me standing there on the deck, and suddenly the world didn’t just fade out from view.

It fell out completely from underneath my feet.

Yes, the worst case scenario I’d been dreading just came to fruition.

That really didn’t go the way I’d been hoping it would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Here Comes The Sun"–The Beatles](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=xUNqsfFUwhY&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Boyfriend's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Or7KezMEXqlIarYmg9-mK)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	15. Wonderful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Perhaps I should have stayed the pretend boyfriend just filling the gap in Ben’s life until he finally finds the man he really wants._
> 
> _Because evidently it was never me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues"–Elton John](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=6v-S4SeDK1E&feature=share)

Did I make a mistake?

I mean, was I wrong to think it could ever work between us?

Did I just ruin any chance of ever being more than friends with Ben, and by telling him how I felt about him, did I also ruin any chance of us even remaining friends after this?

I feel like part of my soul was ripped from my body as I watch Ben dart back inside the lodge and leave me standing alone on the deck overlooking the grounds. I glance up at the night sky and suddenly it doesn’t look so beautiful anymore. Suddenly that moon shining above doesn’t feel so romantic and just looks like how I feel at the moment. Alone, and desolate, in a big empty sky, and those twinkling stars just aren’t as bright as they looked a moment ago.

I was wrong wasn’t I? In thinking Ben felt the same about me? I mean sure there might be some mutual attraction between us, but he would never want a _real_ romantic relationship with me, would he? I was just kidding myself, wasn’t I? Maybe we were both kidding ourselves. The more hopeful part of me, the part of me that refuses to let go of Ben, is thinking maybe he’s just scared because he’s been hurt so deeply in the past.

Maybe he just doesn’t want a man he’d have to ‘train’. Because I’ve got the basics, but I truly don’t know everything there is to know about pleasing a guy. Maybe he thinks I could never satisfy him. Or the second we fall into bed together I’ll change my mind and be nothing but a waste of his time. I think to myself maybe I _should_ let him go. But damn it, I’ve come this far! Why have I gone through all of this angsty relationship build up only for the universe to smack me down like this?!

I wish I’d never opened my mouth.

Perhaps I should have stayed the pretend boyfriend just filling the gap in Ben’s life until he finally finds the man he really wants.

Because evidently it was never me.

I straighten my tie and drag my feet to the door. Whether I like it or not, there’s a world beyond my bubble of despair that still exists and I need to pretend to still be a part of it. Funny, that I’ve gotten so used to faking my way through so many things and yet…I can’t pretend to be happy this time around. The door swings open at my touch and I’m immediately met with an Elton John song the band is covering, sounds of happy feel good music and joyous laughter.

I force a smile whenever I make eye contact with someone, but I don’t think that smile quite reaches my eyes. My heart is a heavy stone in my chest dragging me down, but maybe no one notices. Maybe I just look bored. At the center of the dance floor I see Brian and Kat happy and in love, laughing as they twist and twirl each other around to the music playing. I look away. I head over to the nearest table lined with champagne glasses and snatch one, tipping it back and guzzling it down.

Gotta love weddings. Enough booze to go around. I think a few more of these and I’ll be just tipsy enough to not care if I’m drowning.

When the song is over the singer announces to everyone they’re wrapping up the music, and next will be Brian and Kat opening their wedding gifts, before the reception finally comes to an end. Thank God because I want to go home. I’m tempted to leave tonight, just get in my rental, drive, and never look back. I’m sure Ben could take a cab, or have one of his parents or new in-laws drive him back. Does that make me look like a terrible fake boyfriend if I just leave him here?

Okay maybe I shouldn’t drink champagne, because it’s making me vengeful, wanting to abandon Ben like this.

I don’t realize I’m scowling at a random spot on the hardwood floor until Mrs. Turner approaches me where I’m jealously hoarding the champagne flutes and guarding them like a hound. I look up when she waltzes up to me, holding her beautiful and intricately designed floral taffeta gown out of her way, smiling, but also looking slightly concerned. I quickly flash a smile at her as she comes to stand beside me, turning her eyes to the crowd of guests.

“I wanted to thank you,” she leans in to tell me.

“Oh?” I start, pretending to give a damn.

“Yes,” she nods. “That was a very brave and wonderful thing you did tonight for my son, pretending to be dating him and confessing to your relationship with him like that.” Oh so she didn’t buy a word of us secretly dating and me being hopelessly in love with him? Ironic. “Steve never would’ve done something like that for Ben,” she tells me. “I remember him telling me at one point, Steve even faked a relationship with a woman, all just to promote his image when the public thought he was straight.”

“I really hate that guy,” I blurt out and she chuckles.

“Not as much as I do, honey,” she says.

She sucks in a breath.

“But I knew the minute they moved away so that Steve could try to make it as an actor that Ben was never going to come first. There was no getting through to him though. He just loved Steve so much. He would’ve done anything for him. He told me how he thought for sure they were going to get married. That Steve was going to propose. He refused to see Steve for what he really was, just a selfish conceited jerk that was never going to love my son as much as he loved the spotlight.”

Somehow hearing from his mother just how badly Steve hurt Ben just makes me feel worse.

“But you were willing to stand up in front of total strangers and take up for him like that,” she says. “That was so brave and selfless of a thing to do. I won’t lie, when I first heard you say that you used to work for Vogue and figured out who you were, I thought you’d be the complete opposite. I thought you’d be the type of guy that would only be concerned for himself, just like Steve. I have never in my life been so happy to be proven wrong, Michael Lance.”

“I appreciate that,” is all I can manage to say about it. She speaks like I’m a godsend. Like I’m the best thing to ever happen to her son, even if I’m really just a friend.

But evidently I’m not anything to him. I’m just the schmuck he invited to his sister’s wedding.

“Are you alright, honey?” Mrs. Turner asks me when she sees my frown return in full force.

“Hmm? Oh, no everything’s fine,” I lie. “Everything’s just…just _wonderful_.” I reach for another flute of champagne, drain the glass right before her eyes, and wander away. “It was nice chatting with you,” I say in parting, and weave my way through the crowd.

Brian and Kat have moved to the healthy stack of wedding gifts piled high on a table in the corner and have begun opening them, oohing and ahhing at the gifts and thanking their friends and family for them. Because they’ve already been living together for some time now, their gifts aren’t the typical newly wed items one might expect to see, like toasters, blenders or other household items. Most of the gifts on the registry were just things they like, i.e books, cds, or even toys for Anna.

Ben’s was a gift from the registry, but once it was decided I would be his plus one for the wedding, he added my name to the box, so the tag says, “To Brian and Kat, from Ben and Michael.” I thought it was uncanny when I first saw it, but now it just boils my blood in agitation. We were _never_ going to be “Ben and Michael”, were we? It just… wasn’t in the cards. I spot Ben standing next to Katherine where she sits, reaching to hug him, thanking him for the gift, then she spots me. “Thank you, Michael.”

I just pinch my lips together and nod. I can’t trust my mouth to speak right now and risk blurting out, ‘Oh don’t thank me, I had nothing to do with it. I’m nobody. I’m just the idiot Ben dragged along because he couldn’t find an actual date to your wedding. Surprise!’ I manage to hold in such cynical thoughts, scrubbing my mouth with my hand like it will somehow wipe away the words before they tumble out and force a smile. I manage to keep it until my eyes meet Ben’s.

He’s been smiling too, but he falters when he sees me. For a split second I see that anxious look on his face before he glances away, sucks in a breath, and forces a fake smile of his own directed at Brian as he approaches them. The next fifteen to twenty minutes as they open their presents are almost a complete blur in my mind. I try to stay focused on what’s happening around me, but my eyes keep zeroing in on Ben nearby and I’m reminded once more of just how insignificant I am.

I don’t know how I’m still standing when everyone is finally leaving the reception hall and turning in for the night, the staff coming in behind them to take down decorations while the band finishes packing up their p.a. equipment. I don’t know why or how it happens to be that my eyes meet Mr. Turner’s for a moment before I’m leaving either. But they do, and as I’m turning to leave the hall I catch sight of him. I don’t bother hiding my emotions then.

I glare so coldly at him for a split second that I think I saw him shudder.

Then I make my way up to my suite.

My champagne buzz wears off right around the time I’ve finished packing my things back in my suitcases. We’re planning on leaving early tomorrow, just after we send off Brian and Kat, who will be headed to the airport for their two week honeymoon. We’ll stay and have breakfast with the family, but after that, it’s back to the big city for myself and Ben. Back to our normal lives. Possibly back to pretending this weekend never happened. Or, and this is most likely, pretending we never met.

I don’t know if it’s possible for us to stay friends, given how I feel about Ben, and now that he knows I don’t just want to be friends. I don’t know if I can watch him move on and one day be happy with someone else. I never thought I could, but I was willing to put on a brave face for Ben’s happiness. But now all I can think of doing is going home to my studio apartment, locking the doors, pulling down the shades, turning off my phone, and burying myself under pizza boxes and empty wine bottles.

After I’ve packed my suitcase, set it by the door, and carefully tucked my suit back in its dry cleaning bag, I go through my nightly bathroom routine, then try to go to sleep, but Ben’s rejection tugs incessantly at my mind still, making me toss and turn before inevitably throwing off the covers. Finally I get up and pace the hotel room floor, bare feet wearing a path in the carpet, scratching my head over everything.

Now that the champagne has worn off, all my wickedness has worn away with it and I’m back to thinking rational thoughts again.

Not happy thoughts, but rational, yes.

Maybe Ben just needs more time, after all he’s been through with Steve. Maybe he just needs to know that I’m not going to hurt him like Steve did. Maybe he just needs to understand how serious I am. How deeply I’ve fallen for him. Maybe I’m just being ridiculous. Honestly, would things really work out between us? Would I really be happy spending the rest of my life with another man and completely throwing out every idea of the future I envisioned for myself?

So many things would change if we were together. We wouldn’t have biological children together, for one thing. Not that it ever bothered me before, but is that really a lifelong decision I’m okay with? What about introducing Ben to my family? I can just imagine how the conversation with my parents would go, trying to explain to them that after so many years I’ve suddenly come to the conclusion that I’m bisexual and I’m spending the rest of my life with another man.

What about my career? I mean it’s one thing to tell perfect strangers I’m gay, but another thing entirely to come out publicly. The night at the gallery when people saw the two of us together, arm in arm like that, ended up being interpreted as another tabloid fluke. Just a gimmick. The media thought it was just a publicity stunt. Nobody took it seriously. But they would if I stood before a justice of the peace and said the words ‘I do’.

I don’t want to be like Steve Porter and hide my relationship with another man for the sake of my career. But then again, I know for a fact I would have so much support from Susan, Eric, and the rest of the LGBTQ+ community. I would still have loyal clients like Cassie’s and Clara’s parents, who would value my professionalism over whether or not I’m dating a man. I would probably never again manage to gain lofty, prestigious right-wing clientele, but is that really so bad of a loss?

I knew my life would change the moment I said those words to Ben, but now I’m rethinking everything and agonizing over my choices, because I’m so bent out of shape over the way he rejected me. I don’t know whether to feel angry still, or just distraught, but I know I can’t pretend I’m happy about it. I pace, and pace, and keep pacing well into the night, going back and forth with all these conflicting feelings, until I hear something that makes me stop dead in my tracks, heart racing.

Someone’s knocking on my door.

Then I hear the softest, gentlest, infinitely sweetest and most angelic voice whisper, “Michael? Are you still awake?”

Ben is at my door and I panic for a moment.

Do I let him in?

I’m tempted to ignore it, but what ultimately leads me to the door is the unanswered question of _why_.

Why did he reject me?

Why doesn’t he want to be with me?

I take a deep breath and open the door, then lean against the door frame. I realize I answered the door in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs when Ben whips around to face me, comes face to face with my bare chest, I see his adam’s apple bob, then his eyes travel down, almost in appreciation of what he sees. I’ve always been kind of self conscious of my appearance because let’s face it, I’m no Calvin Klein underwear model, and despite Ben swearing otherwise, I’m really not that young anymore.

Unlike Ben, who looks incredibly sexy in his blue pin-striped boxers and semi fitted t-shirt, with his muscled thighs and calves, wiry arms folded across his chest, I’m most definitely _not_ twenty-eight anymore, and I could probably use a few less calories, and a few more hours at the gym every week. But at the way Ben’s looking at me right now, I feel like a demigod, with the way he bites his bottom lip before he looks away, blushing and stammering. “Uhm, c-can I come in?” he asks.

Part of me wants to say no, but I need answers, we really need to talk about things, and since when have I _ever_ been able to deny Ben Turner anything he wants?

I certainly can’t tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Hands out Tylenol and Band-Aids)
> 
> I'm so sorry. I promise it's almost over.
> 
> Theme: ["Here Comes The Sun"–The Beatles](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=xUNqsfFUwhY&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Boyfriend's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Or7KezMEXqlIarYmg9-mK)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	16. Powerful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I may be the worst man on the planet when it comes to words, but if I can’t speak through my art, then my poor, pathetic, shriveled heart will have to suffice._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Love Of My Life"–Queen](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=2o2RwOWhhJY&feature=share)

I open the door wider for Ben and watch him wander into my room, glancing around and fidgeting nervously. He massages the back of his neck with his hand like there’s a painful kink in it that just won’t go away. I close the door behind me and flip on the nearest lamp. When he turns to face me he immediately glances away again and keeps his eyes focused literally anywhere else but on me. He’s in my hotel suite at an ungodly hour, and I’m in my underwear still.

I should be the proper, civilized individual that I normally am and put on some clothes, dig through my suitcase and at least put on a pair of pants maybe, but that very uncivilized part of my brain that has been hopelessly pining for Ben, who’s been waking up in a cold sweat every night for months on end after sex fueled dreams about him, has me greatly enjoying the fact that Ben is uncomfortable in my presence. He won’t even make eye contact and even fans himself for a second or two.

“Could you, uhm, maybe put on some clothes, please?” he mumbles, eyes on the floor.

I look down at myself. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, Ben,” I tell him, and he huffs, rolling his eyes.

“Be that as it may, Michael, it’s a bit difficult for me to concentrate when you’re mostly _naked_ ,” he snips, trying really hard not to look, yet sneaking peaks every other second, licking and then chewing on his bottom lip. Either he’s never pictured me naked before, as though maybe he didn’t see a point because he thought I’m completely straight and therefore unobtainable, or it might be that I’m better than what he’d imagined. I snort at his statement, as if I can hardly believe it.

Then I fold my arms across my chest.

“Jesus, Ben, I know I’m no underwear model, but I’m not _that_ ugly to look at, am I?”

That gets him to make eye contact and he scowls at me. “No?!” he snaps, his voice uncharacteristically high pitched. “That’s–that’s kind of the exact _opposite_ of the problem I’m having right now? Could you just _please_ put on some pants or something?”

“You know, I don’t think I will, actually,” I smirk at him, really enjoying this now. He glances up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath through his nose. I got him to admit he’s attracted to me, and I imagine his predicament falls somewhere along the lines of trying not to get an erection, because the guy he’s attracted to is in nothing but a pair of form fitting underwear that leaves next to nothing to the imagination. I think this is precisely the stroke to my ego I needed right now.

I know I’m the one that’s half naked, therefore I’m the one that should be embarrassed in this situation, but seeing how flustered I’ve made Ben, instead it gives me a boost of confidence that grants me the courage to speak my thoughts.

“Why did you reject me?” I ask him, and he sighs.

“Michael,” he groans, palming his face. “I-I can’t…I can’t be with you…I-I just…”

I give him a few seconds, but when nothing more comes out of his mouth I say, “Whatever happens between us, or… _doesn’t_ happen between us, it won’t change anything. I could never manage it with my ex wife because she’s a lying, cheating, conniving little sycophant who broke my heart into a million pieces, but I’m fairly certain I can be mature enough to keep from letting it affect our friendship. Even if things didn’t work out, it doesn’t change the fact that I care about you, Ben.”

At least the last sentence wasn’t a total lie. I would never stop caring for him the way I do. But yes, I think I could fake my way through a ‘hey, we can still be friends’ scenario. Even if I’m heartbroken.

He lets out another frustrated groan. “That’s just it, Michael!” he blurts, exasperated. “I can’t do that! I can’t pretend to be mature enough to stay friends with you even if things don’t work out the way I want them to! I can’t just sit there and pretend nothing happened either! It was one thing for us to go out to the movies or go to dinner just as friends, but another thing entirely to actually date you, Michael. I can’t do that to myself, not after everything I went through with Steve!”

He starts to tear up a little, and while every fiber of my being wants to rush to him, scoop him up in my arms, and kiss every trace of those tears from his face, I don’t. I wait patiently for him to finish. “We were going to get married,” he continues. Then quickly adds, “A-At least I thought we were. We were together for so long and I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with him! That I’d one day be Ben Porter! Or maybe we’d hyphenate it. But that we’d grow old together!”

“And when I walked in on that phone call with Derek,” he sobs, “And I found out what was happening, what had been going on for _months_ behind my back, it _crushed_ me! I spent months after that wondering what I did wrong, wondering how I could fix it, trying anything and everything I could think of to hold us together somehow! Hoping and praying I would be enough for him, but I never was! It happened again. And again. And _again_ , Michael!”

“I knew every time he made up some bullshit lie about having to stay out late one night with the company to rehearse his stupid lines,” he spits angrily. “I knew what was going on, and it nearly killed me to know every night he’d come home, kiss me on the cheek and say, ‘Hey babe, how was your day?’! Like he thought I was so stupid! But I knew! I _knew_ , Michael.” He pauses to take a deep breath and lower his voice so he doesn’t wake the whole lodge. “I knew,” he shakily whispers.

He sniffles a little. “But then finally– _finally_ –I worked up the courage to leave. I thought it would get better? You know? That I could be happier without him, happier being single, than watching him tear us apart day after day? But I wasn’t. Because you know what hurt me the most? More than the lies, the cheating, or the smell of cheap cologne lingering on his clothes?” He bursts into tears again. “Was just how much he didn’t even seem to care,” he sobs. “Like I never meant anything to him at all.”

My heart, that’s previously been pounding rapidly in my chest since the minute Ben started unloading all of that pent up emotion, all that heartache, and pouring it all out to me, suddenly stops beating entirely at his next words.

“But then I met you,” he tells me, and instead of staring at the floor, our eyes meet, for the first time in what feels like a stretch of hours. “And for the first time in years I’m happy again. I’d found something _better_ than a boyfriend. I have a _best_ friend, Michael. I have something that I never had with Steve. I have honesty, and I have trust. I have someone who I know I can count on to be there for me when I need him. I don’t feel like I’m all alone anymore. Which is crazy because I _am_.

I’m in that apartment all by myself every night, and yet _despite_ that, I still feel like I have more now than I ever have.” Tears stream down his face as he says, “I don’t want to lose you, Michael. I don’t care about being in a relationship, I don’t care if I don’t have sex, I don’t care about ‘finding true love’. I would rather just have you. I’d rather spend the rest of my life alone in that shitty apartment if it meant having you as a friend. Because I know we’ve been faking a relationship, but the pain I felt was real!”

I take a deep breath and let it out slow. Then I carefully take a step, and then another step. Until finally I’m standing right before him, looking down at him. I unfold my arms and place them on his biceps, unconsciously pulling him closer as I speak. “You don’t have to choose between me and having a relationship, Ben,” I tell him. He sighs and looks away as if I’m being ridiculous. But my hand to his chin draws him back. “You could have both. You don’t have to choose.”

“Michael…”

“I can be your boyfriend _and_ your best friend, Ben. You don’t have to take one or the other or nothing, and you’re _not_ going to lose me. That I can promise you. No matter what happens. Because I don’t want to lose you either.”

“Michael you’ve never even been with a guy,” he groans, shaking his head at me. “What if I’m not what you want? Or maybe it works out for a little while, but then one day you change your mind? What if you wake up one morning and suddenly decide you’re not happy with me, and I have to watch you move on with some woman? I can’t do that again, Michael. I can’t watch someone I care so deeply for just move on with someone else like I never mattered. I can’t!”

“Ben,” I cup his cheek and bend down just a little, closer to his face, giving him little option but to keep his eyes on mine. “That’s just a risk we have to be willing to take. But I can promise you, it’s _not_ going to happen. You won’t lose me, Ben.”

His face starts to scrunch up again, like he might burst into ugly strangled tears again at any second.

“How can you possibly know that?!” he asks me, bottom lip trembling uncontrollably and he sucks in a breath.

I take a deep breath of my own, letting my thumb brush his cheek, wiping away that pesky tear that slips down.

As I said, I’ve never been good with expressing my emotions through words. Words have just never been my passion like they are for Ben. My own has been a series of calculated, timed and captured moments, framed with matte and hung in a gallery that always managed to say what I never could with words. More often than not words would fail me, and my only real talent with them was to be blunt, crass, or sometimes even cynical with words. But I’ve always been honest with them.

I don’t have some beautiful dialogue filled with poetry and prose. I don’t have some witty one liner worthy of a movie or tv show. I don’t have the lyrics to some old forgotten love song to quote what I feel. All I have is the truth. All I will _ever_ have is the truth. I can’t pretend to be some savvy, sophisticated master of the romantic arts. I can only be me. So if I can’t hide behind my camera and let my photography do the talking for me, there’s only _one_ option, and that’s to speak the truth.

I may be the worst man on the planet when it comes to words, but if I can’t speak through my art, then my poor, pathetic, shriveled heart will have to suffice.

“Because I’m in love with you,” I say, that decrepit heart suddenly beating much faster and livelier than ever before, and Ben freezes.

For a moment I think I’ve lost him.

I think for a split second I’ve only worked to push him even farther away.

But there’s no turning back now.

Ben sighs dejectedly at me, “Oh Michael,” shaking his head, tears streaming down his face in earnest this time. He grips my forearm tightly wearing I’ve been cradling his face in my hand, his thumb absently brushing the coarse black hair. He takes a few shuddering breaths, before he blurts out, “Michael you’re crazy! I mean we’ve never even kissed! How can you say that you love me? How could you even know it would work?”

How can I know?

Obviously someone has completely forgotten about concepts like demisexuality and aromanticism.

“Ben, I don’t need to kiss you to know that you taste great,” I say, reaching up with my other hand to cup his face with both hands, wiping away his tears. “I don’t need to touch you to know you feel incredible. I don’t need to hold you to know there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” I lean in closer to his ear and murmur, “And I don’t need to spend hours making love to you to wake up every morning in a pile of sweat with a raging hard-on.” His breath catches at the implied imagery.

I pull back to look down at him once more.

“You’re the romance novelist, Ben, you should know better than anyone, love isn’t something you feel with your hands…It’s something you feel with your heart.”

His lip trembles still, and his eyes dart over mine.

As if he wants to believe it, but wouldn’t dare.

“Michael…” Another sniff. “Michael you don’t even believe in fate or destiny, or fairy tale endings. How could you possibly think ours is going to have a happy one?”

“Why, Ben Turner, I never pegged _you_ for such a skeptic,” I quip humorously, causing him to snort and roll his eyes a little at me. “You’re right, I didn’t believe in fate…but then I met you.”

Once more his breath catches in his throat, at such prolific words.

“Ben, I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my entire life,” I continue. “I’ve never felt this way for any woman I’ve been with. Nothing could even compare. You have no idea how happy it makes me just to know you even _exist_. Just to know that you’re here living and breathing in this world, that you’re _real_ , Ben, and just a phone call away. How happy I am just to hear your voice. To see you smile. To make you laugh. How _privileged_ I feel to be the one that makes that beautiful sound.

I’ve been looking for you my whole life, Ben, I just never knew it was _you_ I’ve been searching for. And I would rather spend the rest of my life by your side just as your friend if it meant I got to be near you, than to not have you at all. Because all I want is to make you happy, and I will do _anything_ to make that happen. I will happily walk through that flame. You’re right, I didn’t believe in fate, or any sort of destiny, nor did I ever expect to find my soulmate, but I do and always have believed in love.”

I’ve started to become emotional too as I pour out my heart to him, and I blink the tears from my eyes.

I take a deep, though shaken breath, and my eyes never leave his.

Not even for a second.

“I love you, Ben Turner, with all my heart,” I confess. “And love is far more powerful a concept than destiny, don’t you think? Because fate may change a person’s life, Ben, but love has the power to change the world, and you’ve certainly turned mine upside down.”

“Oh Michael,” he sobs, but this time it’s not in despair.

You know, there were a hundred different ways I imagined our first kiss?

There was the classic “true love’s kiss” where my lips just gently brush his. There was the desperate “I can’t possibly live without you” kiss where my lips violently crash to his at the velocity of a bullet train. There was even the rather pessimistic, but undoubtedly realistic daydream of the “I was wrong about this” kiss, that played out similarly to Jerry Lewis’ The Disorderly Orderly, in the scene where he finally kisses Susan Andrews and there just aren’t any fireworks like he thought there would be.

But in all those different ways I imagined it, for some inexplicable reason, not once did I ever picture Ben being the one to make the first move.

I feel him surge upward, but I’ve only a moment to process what’s happening, as his lips are on mine and suddenly my blood is like fire. Intrinsically his hands reach to cup my face, just as my arms are slipping around him, and he presses against me. I’d always tried to imagine what it would feel like, but rather strangely, it’s _nothing_ like anything I’ve ever dreamed of. It shouldn’t surprise me in the least, because everything with Ben feels that way, but it feels like we’ve been doing this for _years_.

It’s very different than what I’m used to, but it’s…it’s _better_ than anyone else I’ve ever kissed, if that makes for a sufficient explanation. It’s like Ben knows me inside and out the way his perfect mouth meshes perfectly with my own, the way his soft, sweet tongue just lightly brushes mine at first before delving deeper in exploration, then ultimately mine takes the lead and pushes back, making him moan. But from the moment my lips met his I’ve been steadily getting hard.

With every sweep of his tongue growing increasingly amorous, and equally impatient to get him in my bed.

To hold and kiss, to touch and slowly break apart the man I love with every fiber of my being.

There truly _isn’t_ a more powerful feeling.

Finally my hands slide down to grope that perfect ass too, squeezing it, as I pull him flush against me. He gasps in my mouth. I feel his own budding erection pressed against mine, twitching and throbbing. He’s like putty in my hands. Hands that slide back up and under his shirt, feeling his smooth unblemished skin. God he feels incredible! But he’s struggling to breathe because he’s been crying and his nose is stuffy, so he pulls away and repeatedly pecks my lips with his instead.

Mine eventually leave his mouth to trail across his jaw, then down his neck.

Then I murmur in his ear, “What was that you said about a happy ending?”

He hums an amused little chuckle, then bites his lip, at the double entendre.

The next thing I know I’m being pushed backwards toward the bed.

No matter how great and powerful I feel at the moment, with everything I’ve ever wanted finally within reach, bizarrely enough, I’m still quite powerless in a sense.

That is, to Ben’s charms, at any rate.

But I would have it no other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *the audience collectively sighs*
> 
> Theme: ["Here Comes The Sun"–The Beatles](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=xUNqsfFUwhY&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Boyfriend's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Or7KezMEXqlIarYmg9-mK)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	17. Definitely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I really do feel like I was made for Ben, and Ben was made for me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a tad late, but here it is.
> 
> Chapter Song: ["Oh! Darling"–The Beatles](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=9BznFjbcBVs&feature=share)

He nudges me toward the bed behind us, and I feel the overstuffed comforter touch the back of my calves. That’s my only warning before I’m falling backwards, Ben’s falling with me, and we collapse on the feathery soft mattress. I land with an, “Oof!” Ben chuckles at me. We’re both laughing, then the next second we’re kissing again. My heart is pounding so rapidly in my chest I think it could power an entire city infrastructure, and I’ve never felt so alive as I do in this moment.

I scoot back until my head rests on the pillow, Ben follows, and just the sight of him above me, crawling across the bed like he’s stalking me, is a sight to behold. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that I want this. I feel like such a fool for ever second guessing it in the first place. Every time our lips meet, and with each new experimental touch, that feeling that this is where I’m meant to be is renewed. I really do feel like I was made for Ben, and Ben was made for me.

My only regret is that it took so long for me to tell him how I felt. I lay my head back against the pillow as Ben straddles me. I let my hands slide up his thighs, feeling the goosebumps that raise on his skin, over his hips, then finally up his back, lifting his shirt as I go. We tug it off and Ben tosses it aside. Now he’s shirtless above me and I take a moment’s breath to admire what I now have in my possession. I don’t know how he’s managed it, but he looks absolutely incredible.

Could it be that love has made me oblivious to any of Ben’s flaws? Because I don’t see any. He has the perfect musculature of the ideal male figure, with maybe just a touch of “baby fat” in a few places. He doesn’t have abs that could cut through steel, but his chest and arms are more clearly defined. I can’t help but touch, reaching up to trace a line with my fingers from his collar bone, all the way down to his navel. He’s smirking at me, and obviously my admiration is clearly written all over my face.

He bites his lip before bending down to kiss me and I pull him closer, running my hands over every inch of his smooth skin, peppered on occasion with a light dusting of feathery soft blonde hair. His tongue teasing mine sends a jolt of pleasure right through me, enough to make my toes curl. His too, obviously, as he squirms impatiently above me, running hands up my chest before they muss through my hair. I let out a grown at the feel of his fingers raking over my scalp.

But everything grinds to a halt when abruptly he pulls away, and blurts out, “Wait, shit, I forgot…uh, condoms?” And then my internal engine comes to a complete stop as well. I blink rapidly. I didn’t think about that. I had no plans whatsoever to get laid on this trip. Wasn’t like I was thinking of nailing one of the bridesmaids–or groomsmen, for that matter–and obviously Ben didn’t have that kind of foresight either. He fumbles nervously. “I-I didn’t know if you would want to, you know…”

He makes an oblique gesture. It’s kind of cute, actually. The way he suddenly seems so shy to the idea of discussing gay sex all of the sudden, or even mentioning it out loud, like maybe he assumes I’m shy to the very idea of it still. I snort a little. “Oh yeah, yeah I definitely want to,” I adamantly agree. “But yeah, I didn’t…I didn’t bring any.” He raises a brow at me. “What? It wasn’t like I planned on spending the weekend around your family trying to get laid. So left the box at home.”

Ben sits up a little, snorting in disbelief. “Wait, so, like, not even me?” he asks me. “You didn’t consider that we might actually…you know…?”

“That we might actually have sex, you mean?” I ask, and Ben blushes.

“Y-Yeah,” he mumbles. “But you didn’t…”

I chuckle. “No, Ben. I didn’t come here with any intention of trying to get in your pants. Trust me, that was not my top priority.”

He smiles a little to himself, and I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking right this very moment that would make him smile like that, but he tells me. “Wow, you really are kind of a romantic, aren’t you?” he asks, sounding almost in awe of the notion. “I mean here you told me you haven’t been pretending to have these romantic feelings for me, and that you’re secretly in love with me, yet…you didn’t once consider that we might end up in bed together?”

“I…had thought about it, yes,” I admit. God I’ve been dreaming about it for weeks, so of course I’ve thought about it! “But just because I feel this way about you, it was no guarantee you’d even feel the same, and even if you did, it’s not like I’m going to pressure you into having sex with me.”

Ben rewards me with another fond smile at me. “I appreciate that,” he tells me.

“But clearly _someone_ wanted to get laid tonight,” I hint, lifting a brow and he chuckles.

“If you wanted to try it, yes,” he admits. “Or we could just…you know, take things slowly? We don’t have to…I-I mean we didn’t have to, or we won’t, or…” Okay now he’s just babbling at me and looking extremely flustered and I think it’s because Ben thinks that if we don’t sleep together, I’ll only change my mind about the whole thing. Like maybe tomorrow I’ll wake up and decide I’m not in love with him after all. Or maybe he just wants to rip it off like a band-aid and see if this will work between us.

Maybe do it now, rather than later, before he gets too attached and gets hurt. “Ben,” I start, cupping his face and running my thumb over his cheek. “Even if nothing happens tonight, it’s not going to change my mind,” I remind him, and I mean that wholeheartedly. But between the two of us are two very neglected body parts straining in our underwear. “But maybe we’ll just rain check on going all the way tonight?” I add, already getting ideas of how to salvage this situation.

“Oh, okay,” he mumbles and then quickly adds, “I just didn’t know if you would even want to try it, or if you’d even be into it, or like how you would want to do it, because I know you’ve never done it and not like it really matters to me but I didn’t want you to feel like you _had_ to, and we can just–mph!”

I sat up to kiss him and now I’m threading my fingers through his hair. I think we’ve done enough talking about this. Ben behaves as if I’ve yet to even make up my mind on how I feel about this whole venture, but me I’ve already imagined a hundred different scenarios in my mind, and there’s one I want to act on right this second. I do my best to kiss away any doubts, any hesitation before I let my hands drop to the waistband of his boxers and slowly tug them down.

I pull them down midway to his knees, slide my hand back up his thigh, before I wrap it around his twitching, throbbing erection and gently stroke him, running the pad of my thumb over the tip. He sharply inhales in my mouth at the touch, gripping my shoulders tightly. Eventually, after a few strokes of my hand, Ben reaches down with his to guide me how he wants me, moaning and panting in my mouth. Just that myriad of sounds alone is enough to make me ridiculously hard.

I pull back a little to see that face, that blush to his cheeks and that trembling lip that I have dreamed about. While I have a very imaginative mind, I couldn’t possibly have conjured such a perfect image. His whole body shakes with strain of the unreleased tension that builds, and he starts thrusting into my hand. In doing so he grinds against my own hard, aching member and while the friction of my underwear makes it burn a little when it scrapes the sensitive skin it’s like fireworks behind my eyes.

“Jesus,” I breathe out as Ben rides out his pleasure, chasing his release. It’s difficult, considering the position he’s in and his boxers constricting his movement. My other hand, that’s kept a white-knuckled grip on his hip has started pulling him closer with each thrust, and my hips raise into the searing heat Ben’s generating. Right now, what I want more than anything is to see, hear, and feel him coming at my touch, so I slow down and back off for a second, making him whimper.

“Let’s get these off,” I say as I pull at his boxers, so he sits back, curling his legs to fit them through each opening, one at a time as I wrestle them off, then toss them to the floor. Then I wrap his legs around my frame and continue where we left off, pulling him in and kissing him deeply as I start over from a slow rhythm and gradually pick up the pace, my tongue matching each stroke in a synchronized fashion. Now, with Ben in my lap like this, he’s absolutely frantic.

He squeezes my waist tightly with his thighs and I wonder if he might snap me in half. Then he leans back, resting one hand on the bed behind him as he thrusts into mine, then with the other he clings to my neck. It’s absolutely incredible, the way his fist balls tightly in the fabric of the blanket, his muscles contort and then contract, his chest rises and falls rapidly with each heavy breath, a bead of sweat forms on his brow then trickles down, and God Almighty the sounds he makes!

Eyes half lidded before they squeeze shut. An expression of pain mixed with pleasure like it’s so intense that it actually hurts. These tiny, whispered sobs of, “Oh fuck, right there–Oh yes–Oh please don’t stop–Please don’t stop–”

Before one final stroke of my hand throws him over that edge and he all but freezes in place, sputtering with incoherent nonsense as he spills onto my abdomen and all over my hand, soaking my boxer briefs. I look down, transfixed at the sight. I’ve only ever seen my own when masturbating, but to watch Ben’s stream of milky white semen spilling out, feeling him throbbing in my hand, just knowing that it was at _my_ touch, and hearing that long awaited groan leave his lips.

It’s almost enough to make me come, right now, right this instant, and I’m so close it’s utterly ridiculous. I keep stroking him through his orgasm until he just can’t take it anymore and reaches down to stop me, pressing sweet kisses to my lips, face and neck. “Oh my god,” he sighs, wracked with disbelief. “Oh Michael, that was…” He trails off, shaking his head. Evidently words cannot express. I’ve rendered him speechless. My ego is soaring through the roof at the mere notion.

He still trying to catch his breath, but hasn’t quite, as he asks, “Were you maybe lying to me when you said you’re straight?” I chuckle a little and so does he. “Because you are _really_ good at this.”

“Let’s just say I have a very vivid imagination and a lot of free time,” I shrug, making him snort.

He grinds against my still throbbing erection. “And you’re really enjoying it. You never were ‘just curious’, were you?”

“No, I’ve... I’ve definitely made up my mind.”

“Well you are most certainly bisexual, Michael Lance,” he declares, but I shake my head in denial.

“No.”

“No?”

“No. No I am one hundred percent gay right now,” I say and he laughs. “There’s no question about it. I’m most definitely gay. Very _very_ gay.”

“What, so women are now a thing of the past then, are they?” he asks, incredulously, and I smirk, then lean forward to press more kisses to his lips.

“Women,” Another kiss, “Other men,” Yet _another_ kiss, “Pretty much every other human being on the planet,” He chuckles at me, then I kiss him again, “Everyone but you.”

He slips his arms around my neck. “Then how about I clean us up, and show you just how gay I am for _you_ , Mr. Lance.”

“Yeah, I’m _very_ on board with that.”

He pecks my lips with his, then bites my lip. “Yeah? You like that idea?”

“Oh yes definitely,” I sigh, then let him push me back down on the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for part two, coming soon! (Heh, and so is he *wink/nudge)
> 
> Theme: ["Here Comes The Sun"–The Beatles](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=xUNqsfFUwhY&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Boyfriend's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Or7KezMEXqlIarYmg9-mK)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	18. Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Say it again,” I request, heart pounding._
> 
> _“Say what?”_
> 
> _“That you love me.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a short chapter a day early because I feel bad about missing Wednesday's update :/
> 
> Chapter Song: ["Time After Time"–Cyndi Lauper](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=7wBgcalM4c4&feature=share)

“You’re such a cheeky dick, you know that?” Ben teases playfully after we’ve cleaned up and I’m now laying on my back with him above me.

“What?” I laugh.

“You heard me,” he smirks. “This whole time I’ve been so nervous thinking you didn’t feel the same about me, and here you’ve already made up your mind.”

“I have, yes,” I nod, lifting my head to peck him with a kiss.

Very quickly and easily that kiss deepens, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for Ben’s tongue to dance so fluently with mine. But I’m soon abandoned in favor of Ben letting his mouth trail down, over my neck and collar bone, then eventually lower, across my chest, and with each teasing nip of his teeth I simultaneously melt further into the mattress and arch further into the touch. I can’t get enough of it. Where I’ve already been hard I’m now aching, and desperate.

When his lips ghost the dark trail of hair leading into my boxer briefs and I feel his steaming hot breath on my skin I lose my mind. I don’t make the slightest effort to stop him when he tugs at my waistband, and I lift my hips to accommodate, allowing him to pull my underwear down and out of the way. A moan is forced from my lungs when I feel that mouth just lightly brush the sensitive tip. I’m breathing heavily in anticipation, but I _stop_ breathing when I feel his mouth close around me.

My head jerks up, as do my hips, at the feel of his soft, wet mouth gently sucking at the tip before it slides down my shaft. “Shit,” I curse breathlessly, and feel Ben hum around me, adding an extra jolt of pleasure to the already intense feeling of it, straight to my toes. It feels amazing, and I can’t fight the urge to lift my head and watch, eventually scooting up onto my elbows and tangling my fingers in his hair as he slowly slides back up, then back down, curling his hand around the base.

Ben’s eyes meet mine for a moment, glazed over with lust. I know he must really appreciate the fact that no, I’m not closing my eyes and imagining a woman. I’m shaking with such intense pleasure at _Ben_ going down on me, and once more he hums around my shaft. After a while I use my hand to gently guide him. Not that I really need to, as it seems as though Ben automatically knows just how to please me. With every swirl of his tongue as effortlessly he glides up and down the length.

Eventually his hand slides up as well, keeping an even, measured pace with his mouth, while the other hand ever so deliciously massages my testicles, rolling each one in his palm, and I’m so overwhelmed by the mix of sensations that I just can’t keep my head up any longer and I collapse back to the bed. “Oh God, Ben, don’t stop, _please_ don’t stop,” I beg, my voice as wanton and desperate as I feel, and I’m rewarded with another moan in response. “Oh God that feels _so_ good,” I groan.

It’s way better than any dream I’ve had. It just feels so natural, just so _right_. So perfect that it begs to question if _this_ is the reason I could never make a relationship work with a woman. Just the thought of _Ben_ being on his knees above me, _Ben_ being the one to draw out each moan and sigh in absolute bliss, and _Ben_ whimpering around my throbbing erection, is what causes my orgasm to build incredibly fast. He just ever so slightly picks up the pace, and it’s precisely the pace I’ve been needing.

“Ben–Ben, wait–wait, I think I’m gonna–”

He pulls away and I shudder at the extreme temperature drop, going from a scalding hot mouth to cold air hitting my shaft. But he watches me heatedly as he continues to stroke me fully with his hand in place of his mouth, as if he finds the effort of pleasing me just as thrilling an act as being on the receiving end, and I can’t help but watch him in turn. The sight of him above me, muscles flexing with every gesture, eyes burning with lust, that perfect mouth hanging just slightly open…

…The way his hair falls just so, over one eye, then the ultimate treasure, the way he licks that bottom lip before he bites it…

I fall completely off that edge so intensely my whole upper body jerks upward off the bed and I grimace like I’m in pain. Then to tease my already heightened senses he watches so intently as I spill onto my abdomen, like he’d give anything to taste it. So hungrily that I almost give into the urge to push the back of his head down and let him lick me completely clean. We’ll save that for another night perhaps. Maybe after a very long and deep discussion of the option of foregoing condoms.

I know I was tested after my last sexual encounter, but I won’t expect Ben to take my word for it.

I flop backwards on the bed again with a deep sigh and tremble in the aftershocks of my orgasm. Ben grins smugly at me, gloating over his ability to so easily bring me to completion and believe you me, he has every _right_ to gloat about that. “That was…” I struggle to catch my breath. “That was amazing,” I manage and once more he tugs on his bottom lip with his teeth. I palm my face in a mix of sheer disbelief and wonder. 

Ben scoots to the edge of the bed to swipe some Kleenex from the box on the nightstand. I reach my hand out to take it from him but he bats it away and cleans me up. Evidently aftercare is also a thing with Ben, because he prefers to tend to me himself and as he does so, plants loving kisses on my chest. Then, after tossing the used tissue in the waste basket nearby, he crawls back to me and I happily scoop him into my arms, cradling his head where he tucks it into the crook of my neck.

“Oh yeah,” he chuckles. “Yeah you’re definitely gay.”

“Technically bisexual though, right?”

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to,” he quips with a hand wave and I chuckle.

“You know they’re not the same thing.”

“Well, no, but if you’re a man that likes other men, you’re gay.”

“I don’t think it counts if it’s just one man.”

“Okay so then this is a gay-for-you romance.”

“A _what_ kind of romance?” I laugh. Ben snickers.

“I guess nobody ever told you about that trope, did they?”

“Well, not that one, no. I was never aware of its existence. But _whatever_ I am, I’m just happy to be that with you.”

“Me too.” He skims his hand over the hair on my chest, tickling me a little. Obviously _all_ of me is sensitive after an orgasm. “I just hope you’re still singing the same tune after sex.”

“Sex doesn’t always have to include penetration to be sex,” I say with a shrug. “It’s an intimate act between two people for mutual benefit. So technically we did have sex.”

“Okay Mr. Technical,” he reams. “All I’m saying is I hope you’re just as happy if we ever, you know, get to that. I…I just really want you to be happy, Michael, and I don’t…I don’t want you to change your mind.”

“I _won’t_ ,” I stress, squeezing him tighter. “I was kind of thinking I’d be more likely to disappoint _you_ , actually. I mean, I don’t have any experience with other men. I’d hate for you to have to, I don’t know, ‘train’ me or something. I didn’t want you to feel like you were being shortchanged in a relationship with me, when you could be with someone more experienced instead. That maybe I’d never be able to satisfy you as well as say, someone with a few more notches on their bedpost.”

Ben sits up a little to look down at me. “Is that why you didn’t tell me?” he asks. “You know, how you felt about me? Because you were worried I wouldn’t want to be with someone who’s never done it before?” My response is somewhere between a shrug and a half-nod. The visual representation of an, ‘I don’t know maybe.’ He eyes me sympathetically and strokes my collar bone affectionately with his thumb. “Your experience, or lack thereof, was never the issue, Michael,” he tells me.

He leans down and kisses my cheek, then adds, “It’s everyone’s first time at some point. I was just worried that you would never feel for me the same way I feel about you.”

My head leans curiously to the side in interest of that last part, because I think I know what he’s driving at.

Confirmed when he adds, “You told me you loved me, but I never said it back.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to,” I say, gingerly rubbing his arm, eyes darting over his. “You’re not obligated to say those words, just because I said them. Love isn’t an obligation, Ben, it’s a feeling.”

“I know,” he nods. “But I _do_.”

“You…do?”

Again, he nods, smiling at me. “I think part of me did from the moment we met.”

“And you called _me_ crazy,” I can’t help but tease and he snorts, rolling his eyes a little.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, falling for a guy I’ve never even kissed. And it _is_ crazy. It has to be absolutely _insane_ to feel the way we do. But I meant what I said too, you know. About you being perfect for me. There’s no one else I want to be with, Michael. Not just because it’s exciting or adventurous, not because it’s so idealistic or utopian like my novels, but because it’s so _easy_ , Michael. Staying together after the curtain closes is the hard part, but falling in love with you was as easy as breathing.”

I could not have said it more eloquently.

“So you’d really be happy with a boring schmuck like me?” I ask.

“You’re _not_ boring,” he corrects, probably for the hundredth time this week alone. “You’re _stable_. There’s a difference. And even if you were I’d happily take boring and cheesy with the man I love over lonely and miserable without him.”

“Say it again,” I request, heart pounding.

“Say what?”

“That you love me.”

He smiles down at me and my heart soars.

“I love you, Michael Lance,” he tells me.

“Again?”

“You want me to say it again?”

“Yes. Over and over. All night. Every night,” I say breathlessly. “Every waking minute, maybe.”

He leans down close to my ear and whispers, “I love you, I love you, I love you…”

No, I definitely won’t get tired of hearing it any time soon.

But after about ten to fifteen times of hearing it said, I turn my head to murmur, “I love you too.”

He hums a little.

“Say it again,” he tells me.

“Again?” I chuckle. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

So I say it over and over again too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Here Comes The Sun"–The Beatles](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=xUNqsfFUwhY&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Boyfriend's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Or7KezMEXqlIarYmg9-mK)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	19. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I can’t take it anymore. Ben and I are together now, which means I’m not going away anytime soon, whether he likes it or not. So I think it’s time I had a little chat with Mr. Turner._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Old Man"–Neil Young](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=rAtDrFdomN4&feature=share)

Despite my exhaustion and the lateness of the hour, I can’t seem to turn off my mind to sleep, replaying every moment over and over in my head, from start to finish, every second of the experience. For awhile, Ben was much the same, lazily brushing his hand over my skin, tracing every contour of my chest softly with his fingers, until about ten minutes ago when he finally dozed off to the sound of my heartbeat. But me I can’t even close my eyes.

I’m just too excited, and though I can barely move, my mind is racing a mile a minute. I’m thinking about all the wonderful things Ben and I might do together, about how excited both Eric and Susan are going to be when they hear the good news. I’ll probably have to three-way call them both to tell them, so neither complains about the other finding out first, because I love my friends but they can be so juvenile when it comes to dishing about our relationships.

I bask in the warmth of Ben’s frame nestled into mine like we’re two jigsaw puzzle pieces, in each mounting crescendo of breath, the weight of his limbs as they drape over me. I treasure each slight twitch and murmur in his sleep, the smell of coconut in his hair. The softness of his skin, like velvet, where my hand skims across it. It’s going to be difficult to have moments like this once we’re back in the city, and back to our every day lives, so I want to enjoy this while it lasts.

I think about everything that happened tonight and decide I’m glad things turned out the way they did. There’s no reason for us to rush this. There’s plenty of time to take things slowly with Ben. Maybe have a do-over, and take Ben out on that first date we should have been having that night at Giuliani’s but didn’t, because he thought it was fake. Do all of the other things we love doing together, going to the movies, or out for coffee, but not just as friends.

No, this was never just about sleeping with Ben. This is so much more than that, and I won’t let a single opportunity go to waste. I certainly won’t let things go the way they did in my marriage either. So maybe I can’t afford to take Ben on exotic vacations, but I won’t allow myself to become so consumed by my work that I neglect our relationship. So maybe I can’t always take him out to fancy restaurants, but I know Ben much prefers pizza and Netflix anyway.

I’m prepared to spend every waking minute giving Ben the happiness he deserves. The love and attention that Steve never gave him, the affection I never gave my ex wife. I finally fall asleep with thoughts of what the future holds in store for us, and sleep better than I ever have in years. When I wake with the alarm, I find Ben right there beside me still, though maybe we’re not smashed up against each other. We drifted a little in our sleep, but his hand still rests on my forearm.

His head is more under the pillow than on it, hair mussed and mouth hanging slightly open. He’s adorable even when he sleeps. Obviously he’s a deep sleeper, because he’s yet to stir, while I’m rolling over and silencing the alarm on my phone as it chirps. I don’t want to get up just yet. But the plan is to head down and have breakfast with the Turners and their new in-laws, before we send off Brian and Kat. Anna will be staying with her grandparents while they’re on their honeymoon.

Then we’ll hit the road. Ben wants to miss the worst of traffic so we’ll be leaving almost immediately after his sister does. Ben grumbles in his sleep, rolls over and scrubs his face with his hand, then snuggles closer to me, and I can’t help but slide my arm around him and pull him in, until we’re flush against each other once more. “Ben, sweetheart, we have to get up,” I murmur and he groans in response. I snort a little. “It was _your_ idea to leave early remember?”

“Why did I ever suggest that,” he mumbles.

“Because you wanted to beat traffic.”

He squeezes me tighter. We’re both silent for a minute or so, just enjoying the physical closeness, before he says, “Are we up yet?”

“Oh yeah, yeah totally,” I ream sarcastically. “We’re already back in the city.”

“Great. I’m going back to sleep then.” I chuckle a little, and so does Ben. After a time he lifts his head to stare down at me. “I love you,” he tells me, just because he can and I grin up at him.

“I love you too.”

Eventually we throw the covers off and force ourselves out of bed. Ben finds his boxer briefs and t-shirt, puts them on, then slinks off to his room across the hall to shower and dress properly. I do the same, packing away my tooth brush and paste after I’m done using them, double checking to make sure I have everything and won’t accidentally leave something behind. I know Ben is doing the same thing in his room when my phone beeps with a text from him. ‘Got your toothbrush?’

‘Yeah. Did you remember to bag up your dirty laundry?’

‘Getting ready to.’

I always appreciated how domestic we are, always reminding each other of little things like that, almost like we’re a couple, but now my heart is pounding because we truly are. We’re together. We’re not just friends anymore. Nothing makes me happier than being able to step out of my room once I’m dressed and wait for Ben to step out of his, then feel him peck my cheek with a kiss as he hooks his arm in mine and walk side by side to the stairs, headed down to the dining area.

 _Together_.

My heart feels like it’s going to explode with joy as we join his family at one of the larger tables, side by side, and order from the breakfast menu. After breakfast we retire to the sitting area, gathering around the fireplace, and I join Ben on the wicker couch that’s just big enough for two as we sip our coffee, Ben laying his head on my shoulder. It’s just…it’s incredible. To not have to hide our feelings for one another from anyone, or each other. To just be…together. At last.

Brian and Katherine haven’t come downstairs yet, but little Anna is awake, comes up to us after she’s had breakfast and wants to sit between us on the couch, so now there are three of us, Anna half on my lap, half on Ben’s as she wedges between us and babbles. She’s a bright ball of energy once she’s awake, and a barrel of laughs. Neither Ben nor I can keep from cracking up at all the goofy things she has to say. But she seems happy, despite the discomfort her father’s appearance caused last night.

She’s more excited than anyone about Brian being part of the family. They all gather around and we spend some time chatting with one another. All except for Mr. Turner, who’s still silent and brooding in the arm chair by the fire. Once more Ben apologizes to Mr. Stevens for his eye, that’s mostly better now. The swelling went down and now it’s just a bit of a dark bruise, but there’s no permanent damage and it’ll clear up in a few days. Mr. Stevens refuses to hear anymore apologies.

“It’s perfectly okay, Ben,” he says. Then chuckles. “You actually reminded me of my very first golfing lesson with my dad way back in the day.” He proceeds to tell everyone the story of how he made a mess of things when Brian’s grandfather tried to teach Roger how to golf, Diana cracking up beside him, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. Everyone is chuckling and Ben feels ten times better about his own blunder after hearing the story. But his dad is still stoic across from us.

I can’t take it anymore. Ben and I are together now, which means I’m not going away anytime soon, whether he likes it or not. So I think it’s time I had a little chat with Mr. Turner.

I slowly retract my arm from where I’ve kept it encircled around Ben, clearing my throat.

“Mr. Turner, might I have a word with you?” I request, and everyone’s attention is now on the two of us. Beside me Ben fidgets nervously. “In private, if you don’t mind.”

John Turner takes a deep breath and slowly nods, rising from his chair, so I do the same, setting my coffee on the nearest table and scooting Anna onto Ben’s lap so I can stand. Obviously Mr. Turner also feels like this is a conversation that’s long overdue. The room is silent, curious, as I stuff my hands in my pants pockets and follow Ben’s father outside. We end up on the front lawn where flowers have been planted and line the cobble stone path. I keep my guard up until we’re further away from the entrance.

Normally I might be nervous about this conversation, but I’m more irritated than anything else, and being agitated tends to make me braver than I would be otherwise. So instead of having sweaty palms and being wracked with nerves like I’m in junior high and standing in front of the father of the girl I’m trying to take to the spring formal, I’m clenching my hands into fists in my pockets and clenching my jaw tightly. Finally John stops walking, and turns to face me.

I break the silence with, “You don’t like me.”

He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. Then he deflates in a sigh, shaking his head a little like he finds this whole thing as ridiculous as I do. He glances away, scratching the back of his head. “On the contrary, I like you a lot, Mr. Lance,” he tells me, and I blink in surprise. He looks sheepish for a moment, and he kind of reminds me of Ben. It seems the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree after all. “I’m sorry if I made you think otherwise.”

“I wasn’t looking for an apology,” I state, pulling my hands out of my pockets to fold my arms and stare intently at him. “Though if anyone should hear an apology it’s your son. Ben is a wonderful person, and doesn’t deserve to have his father snub him like this. If he were me, I would’ve told my dad to go straight to hell, but Ben is obviously a lot nicer than I am. So I’ll do it instead. I feel absolutely no guilt or shame whatsoever in telling you to kiss my ass.”

John lifts a brow at me. His lips almost start to twitch upward in a smile, like maybe he approves of my brazen attitude. He snorts in disbelief. “Well, if I’m being honest, I probably would’ve told my father the same thing,” he shrugs. Then he lets out another deep sigh. “You’re a bold man, Mr. Lance, and I admire that about you. Both Ben’s and Katherine’s exes didn’t have the backbone you obviously possess. Neither one of them would ever have confronted me like this.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I love my children,” he continues. I want to blurt out, “Yeah well you’re doing a piss poor job of showing it,” but there’s more he wants to say so I hear him out. “And I suppose I do owe you an explanation at least. When my son first came to me and told me he was gay I was…shocked, to say the least about it. In that moment, everything had changed. The vision I’d had of what my son’s future might resemble was ripped completely away from me.

I won’t lie, I took it pretty hard. I know Ben could still adopt children if he wanted, but it was just that…It was that every thought of Ben getting engaged, dancing with his wife at his wedding, announcing they were pregnant, holding his first child in his arms at the hospital, all those dreams of what his life might look like they were…they were _gone_. But I still loved my son and I wanted him to be happy, and I realized what scared me the most was not the thought of Ben marrying a man, it was…

It was the _opposite_. It was the knowledge of the likelihood of Ben being miserable for the rest of his life. Of him being hated and feared, of him being judged for loving another man, of being persecuted for it. Of him walking down the street and living in fear of being attacked. I see and hear it on the news almost every other day, about someone who was viciously attacked just for being gay, of all the violence and prejudice associated with homophobia, and it terrified me. It kept me awake at night.

I didn’t want to turn on my television and hear about my son being shot because someone saw him walking down the street, hand-in-hand, with another man. It took me years to get over that fear, and I suppose I’m not completely over it, because every time I’m confronted yet again by the fact that my son is gay, I’m hit with that anxiety all over again.” He pauses to take another deep breath. “When Steve entered the picture it was…just a nightmare,” he sighs heavily, worrying his lip.

“I knew that man was all wrong for my son, but I had no control over it,” he tells me. “Ben was so stubborn. And Steve always was a charmer. He had Ben wrapped around his finger. But I wanted to believe he was a good guy. I was hopeful, thinking maybe now that Ben had someone in his life he could be happy and I could finally let go of my fears. I could stop worrying day and night if he’s safe, happy, loved and supported. Then when Steve turned out to be a lying, cheating scumbag, I…

Well, I suppose I don’t really have to tell you. Obviously you can see the rift between us. But I just wanted my son to be happy. This wasn’t what I wanted for him, but I accept the fact that I have no control over what Ben chooses to do with his life. That’s a dilemma _every_ father has, whether or not their son is gay. I don’t expect you to understand because I know you don’t have kids. But you would if you did. I really do love my son, Mr. Lance. I don’t hold it against him that he likes other men.

I just…I don’t know, I guess I’m where he gets that stubbornness from. It’s just…difficult for a man like me to discuss these kinds of things without getting angry or my words coming out wrong, so it’s better to just not say anything at all. I can’t relate to Ben anymore, and I wouldn’t know where to start trying to get back to the way we used to be. So it’s better to just let Ben live his life the way he wants and stay out of it. I really didn’t mean to come off so coldly, I just didn’t know what to say.

When I first saw you I knew you weren’t just a ‘friend’ of my son’s. I knew there was something going on between the two of you, and I won’t lie, it alarmed me. I thought you’d be just like Steve. Just this selfish, self-serving attention seeking type. The kind of guy that’s only concern is money and fame, who’s only interest in my son might be his looks, or his success as a writer, something to that degree. But then last night at the reception, you stood up and announced your relationship with him.

That’s not something Steve ever would’ve done. It was very admirable of you. You…you seem to truly care about my son. So believe me, Mr. Lance, it’s not that I don’t like you. Not like that at all.”

We’re silent for a moment as I process all this. It sounds to me like the situation wasn’t at all what I thought it was. It was never anger or shame at Ben being gay. Just fear, and it’s really not that misplaced either. I just think maybe it’s a conversation he needs to have with his son. It might be difficult for him, for both of them, but this is something Ben needs to hear. Believe me, I know how difficult it is to talk about feelings. But if he was finally able to tell me this, maybe he can do the same with Ben.

I take a breath. “Wait, so, if you do like me, then what is your problem with me, exactly?” I ask. “Why the animosity here? Just out of curiosity.”

He grimaces a little. “I’m sorry about that. It’s just…” He sighs. “I mean don’t you think you’re a little _old_ for my son?”

Oh. 

It’s the significant age cap between us.

That’s what all the scowling was about?

It’s not because I’m an asshole, but just because I’m ‘ancient’?

Slowly my lips part in a smile and before too long I’m laughing in sheer disbelief of the situation, John Turner chuckling right along with me. “It’s my age?” I laugh, and he nods. “Yeah I guess that makes sense then.”

“I mean come on,” he says, with a throw of his hands. “You and I have more in common than the two of you.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” I comment and he snorts, rolling his eyes, like he knows exactly what I’m implying with that statement. “But yeah I suppose that’s fair.”

He shrugs at me. “All I’m saying is if you’re old enough to remember when Freddy Mercury was still alive, it’s a bit disconcerting that you’re dating my twenty-eight year old son who isn’t, that’s all.” I break out in another mirthy chuckle at that. I _am_ that old. Not quite old enough to have jammed out to Queen in concert, but yeah I’m that old. The laughter quiets between us, and we share a sigh. “But you love my son, so I’m willing to overlook it. Not that I have much of a _choice_ , of course, but…”

“I do love him,” I say, relishing in being able to say that out loud. “I love him very much.” I step closer to add, “I also think it couldn’t hurt to _try_ to talk to Ben. If you were able to be so honest with me, maybe you can do that with your son too. And I really think Ben is the one who needs to hear all this from you.” John makes another grimace, like he’s unsure. “I’m pretty sure Ben would understand, and even if he didn’t, I know he’d at least be willing to hear what you have to say for yourself.”

He sighs. “I’ll take that under advisement, Mr. Lance.”

I think we’re both in a better place by the time we start heading back to the lodge. Evident by how Mr. Turner says, “Just call me John,” as we’re walking. That’s a very good sign. I just pray that he takes the same initiative I did and opens up to his son. When we’re back inside and around the family, Brian and Katherine are downstairs mingling and everyone’s talking very excitedly. Ben looks worried though, at least until he spots us, and I give him a smile. He smiles back, albeit nervously.

“Ben, can I…can I talk you for a minute?” John asks his son, and after shooting me a curious glance, he nods and follows his dad out of the commons area. I know there’s going to be a long conversation ahead, so I make myself comfortable, refilling my coffee cup with fresh steaming brew and make small talk with a few people. Both Brian and Kat are overly curious as to what that was all about. I have no comment to make. We’ll just have to wait and see how it turns out.

When Ben and his dad return, John’s got his arm around him and Ben looks like he’s been crying, but they’re both smiling. I guess I was right. Even if he didn’t like what his father had to say for himself, he still appreciated the honesty, and obviously he’s willing to give his father a chance. It’ll take some time, and most likely neither of them will ever _truly_ get back to having the bond they once shared, but they’re off to a good start. Ben flops down next to me and I throw my arm around him.

Across from me Brian and Katherine both grin knowingly, and I’m guessing the drama involving my feelings for Ben was brought up during pillow talk last night. “Dad thinks Michael is too old for me,” Ben huffs beside me and Katherine snorts.

“ _Dad_ ,” she groans.

“What, he is!” John spouts, shooting me a quick wink. Beside him Mrs. Turner scoffs.

“You weren’t saying that forty years ago when you asked me out,” she tells him. 

“Because ten years isn’t that much of a gap, honey,” he says. 

“Oh he’s not that old. You’re not that old, are you, Michael?” she asks. “How…how old _are_ you, exactly?”

All eyes are on me now and I clear my throat.

“Old enough,” I chirp and Ben rolls his eyes. Everyone chuckles.

“Men are like wine,” says Brian’s mother, smirking at her husband. “They just get better with age.”

“I must’ve aged like milk,” John remarks, and his wife snorts.

“You and me both, buddy,” I quip, Ben gasps and swats my arm, taking offense, and laughter rings through the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Here Comes The Sun"–The Beatles](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=xUNqsfFUwhY&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Boyfriend's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Or7KezMEXqlIarYmg9-mK)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


End file.
